One by one
they march
under the shining
arch
of the croquet
hoop
an army of ants
in their shiny black uniforms
to the blaring music
of the radio
drenching the bushes
with Wagner
the flags and banners
of curtains caught
in the breeze
as the whole garden cheers
until like
the rolling wrath of war
a great red ball
smashes the ant army
triumphantly passing through
hoop after hoop
until arriving at the feet
of the snoring sleeper
a newspaper
covering his face
oblivious of the battle
raging
upon the lawns
of summer.
Honored it is that I am that ye remembered me on this, the day of my birth, and even more honored it that I am that you write for me! Thank you so very, very much, my dearest friend. You DO honor me, you know, and I love you for it. Scarlett
This reminds me so much of a poem my son wrote. I love the picture it paints. Ruthie
I love this poem. How well you have captured the minute battles which rage around us all the time while we remain oblivious. The mood of the piece is controlled with such delicacy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
a perfect birthday poem this.Keep up the good poetry