Dance of The Ants
I sat within the morning light,
The sun eclipsed the ridge,
Warming in the chilly air,
Mind’s eye began to stare.
Silk worm dangling on its thread,
Blowing lightly in the breeze,
Sinking ever closer near,
Unrelenting to persevere.
Ill fated journey to the ground,
Near a colony of Little Black Ants,
One by one they met their prey,
Wrestling the worm, as if in play.
Twenty to one, dwarfed in size,
Worked feverishly together,
In a frenzy, to feed the rest,
Close unity, describes it best.
A stray carpenter ant happens by,
An attempt to steal the prize,
Immediately attacked; runs away,
Wisely lives, to steal another day.
An hour later, wearing down,
Exhausted from no defense,
To the Victor, Goes the Spoils,
Journey home, with many toils.
Carrying on with a steady routine,
Nonstop, throughout all the day,
Long after dark, all safely inside,
Perfect world in which to abide.
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Dance of The Ants by G.R. Gaus )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
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