The thoughtless kid with glass in hand
Shows tiny beasts in playground sand
He has the sun at his command
Bug feeling he can't understand
The hand-lens takes each ray of light
And points them at an ant
Who runs until his thorax boils
And six legs blast apart
He's not evil, he's not mean
He just thinks it's interesting
An ant with wings, must be a queen
Those things burn off fast
A white hot dot
He's mesmerized
Crackle and a poof of smoke
And a smell he'll never forget
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem