They’ve gnawed away moving the sand,
building mounds where ever I am.
Crawling around with purpose and intent.
Their goals all differ but they concur each event.
Are they taking notes,
honing their skills,
or being big brothers,
communicating the thrills.
Down the hole each of them go,
grabbing a handful,
they all need to know.
Over here over there,
what are they saying,
vibrating their hair.
Looking around,
measuring up,
Telling the little guy,
your time to stand up.
There’s no chicken little,
no mighty mouse,
no ratatouille or even a house.
Its caves and caverns,
civils and crops,
They’re all polite yet non of them stops.
We can learn a lot,
from these little beasts,
while they mount the queen,
for just a few weeks.
They’re not grooming,
they’re not dressed.
They’re not playing the enemy of zest.
Do they love their life,
do they not transform,
fighting each and every bug that swarm.
Do they make a circuit,
and join the dots,
or are they exploiting earths weaknesses under their lots.
And turning the earth into a great art form,
from all that sand,
so the next can be born.