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Created on: April 20, 2008
I watch these small black creatures,
as they race to and fro in ordered line;
into and out of their well mounded homes,
full of some mysterious purpose.
In perfect symmetry they go forward,
their pace is steady, fast and efficient;
wasting no precious time it appears,
in accomplishing their mission.
Ant hills abound in my back yard,
as their single minded work wins out.
I watch them, intimidated by their industry,
as they remind me of how lazy I can be.
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Poetry: Ant hills
by Gary Maclean
A dozen little mounds
A hundred little trails
A thousand little workers
All bustling on the hills
Hills as big as a wagon wheel
Laid across the landscape
Like castles made of sand
Each a fortress built by perseverance
And teamwork
Gateways to an unseen
The human race is a lot like ants,
in a way we can not truly understand.
Our homes are our own personal mounds of dirt.
They
A tiny little mound
No more than a half inch wide
I can't help but wonder
How many ants are living inside
I know they're in
Ant hills and sugar trails
Feisty puppies, wagging tails
Lemonade sold at a stand
Castles built in the sand
Popsicles turning
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