An ant scurrying down a tree

Am I any more than an ant scurrying down a tree

Bringing sustenance to feed the queen?

Or any less a man without a community

At least ants have a network, a family

A culture born of closeness and affinity

But no matter how long I sit here

The culture will not grow on me;

Only mold and rot in the morning shade

Unlike me, ants needn’t be brave;

Though they’ll be gone before I go away.

Am I less than an ant not knowing when to leave?

A tree of impossible girth with no bark to cling

How can I climb higher without stressing desire?

And seem tall in a forest of obscure specifics

Above bigger pictures from a treetop view

Looking down, I could tell an ant a thing or two

May 4, 2021

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