If I were a fly on the wall.
I'd dwell in the government hall.
I'd observe all their ravings and rants.
As they determine the fate of the ants.
As they squabble, and bicker, and fight.
Their conclusions, all born of pure spite.
They march straight along party lines.
While the futures of bugs are defined.
They care not of hardships they'll bring.
When the worker bee's forced to sting.
But they'll regret, from their conscience, they strayed.
As the dung beetle rolls them away.