Some days I mind the ants,
Scurrying at my feet in mesmeric trance,
One seems to be wandering ’round without a concern at all,
Another dutifully carries a parcel to the colony ensuring not to stall,
Some days life is brusk and I gambol on by,
Undoubtedly killing ants in my trance without a wonder why,
These complex creatures can be rendered into dust,
At the whim of my present thought,
Forgotten tawdry good as rust,
At the cast of a die,
As a human dying by some gigantic force,
Seems a fantasy beyond comprehension,
An improbable discourse,
Rife in condescension,
However omnipotent storms do brew,
And beasts of a different mind do live in our milieu,
So in life this enchanted circumstance,
Nothing can be taken for granted,
For we truly dance along with the ants,
And the light flickers when this view is slanted
Unfurling Firs 