Ant Hill

 Black ants have made a musty mound
My purple pine tree under,
And I am often to be found,
Regarding it with wonder.

Yet as I watch, somehow it;s odd,
Above their busy striving
I feel like an ironic god
Surveying human striving.

Then one day came my serving maid,
And just in time I caught her,
For on each lusty arm she weighed
A pail of boiling water.

She said with glee: "When this I spill,
Of life they'll soon be lacking.
"
Said I: "If even one you kill,
You bitch! I'll send you packing.
"

Just think - ten thousand eager lives
In that toil-worn upcasting,
Their homes, their babies and their wives
Destroyed in one fell blasting!
Imagine that swift-scalding hell! .
 .
 .

And though, mayhap, it seems a
Fantastic, far-fetched parallel -
Remember .
 .
 .
 Hiroshima.

Biography | Poems | Best Poems | Short Poems | Quotes | Email Poem |

Poems are below...