Ant Poem by Uktamoy Khaldorova

An old ant is disappointed,
Where is the wind, wanderer?
From the ripest mulberries
A fruit for me would it tear?

The wind came up treading,
Started hanging on each bush.
The mulberries fell smashing,
The ant felt uneasy so much,

-What do I do with mulberries?
To dry it for raisin I've no roof,
To call my neighbors, they are
Fed up, just came from feast hoop.

Had the wind not been so rude,
One piece would have me fed.
If I were not so old I would rather
Eat a piece climbing it indeed.