- The
ants march, soldier-like,
- across
the pavement at my feet.
- They
spend their days in labors great,
- but
stop to gnaw on something sweet.
-
- They
do not see me standing here.
- They
have no eyes for matters such
- as
I consider in my days.
- To
them, my thoughts don't matter much.
-
- And,
too, I really can't imagine
- what,
if anything, they know.
- Do
they, like I, believe they're more
- than
just a spot upon my toe?
-
- Perhaps
they're not so foolish.