Dean Bottomley (30-08-1995)
Scurrying, hurrying, shiny and black
A tiny head and a longer back.
Scuttling along the garden wall
Right on the edge but you don’t fall.
What is the reason for your existence?
All you do is annoy everyone.
You never enjoy the world around,
And live half your life underground.
You work, work, work, everyday
For so little rest and less pay.
From ancient time, yet still extant:
What is your purpose, my little ant?
Comments about this poem (Ant by Dean Bottomley )
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