She is as bright as the sun
Yet hides in plain view.
With her legs no web is spun,
She waits in morning dew.
The flower is her home;
The place where she kills.
A rose for a throne
Where blood is spilt.
In a respite from the sky
The bee rests its wings
While Misumena is nearby
Spreading long-armed limbs.
Suddenly spider and bee
Are locked in a dance
But a prick does a deed.
She moves in with a prance.
This bee she stitches
With silk and thread
And dangling it twitches
Until it is dead.
Pink like the rose
Or yellow like the sun
The Flower Queen knows
What her beauty as done.