Little ants marching in single file
crossing my smooth window pane.
How do they know who to follow?
Do they each have their own name?
Where are they going in such a rush?
Have they nothing else better to do?
I watch them, my nose to the window,
and it looks like they’re watching me, too.
In my world, everyone’s different
and most people go their own way.
In their world, they follow a leader
and the little guys all look the same.
I like making choices in my life
not following someone all the time.
I wouldn’t like living in their world.
Are they wondering if they would like mine?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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