Ants Poem by MARINA GIPPS

Ants on the ground travel to a place
Where I sit, ash, ash some more
Again
Where I sit, ash, ash some more
Yet again
These are the dumb worker ants,
So small they know not pain,
Nor joy
As they carry away yet more ash
Yet again
As if the food to sustain a family with nothing,
As if another day
Remnants of death will be held sacred
Yet again
Such joy in being an ant or an Auntie of another ant,
Oblivious in their being
So small
For I am only large enough to know
This world before me,
Below me
Easily demolished with my toes