Aesop Redux

He squandered time, left fields unplowed, in search of highs, pursuing thrills, neglecting that he'd been endowed with gifts to cultivate and till. He wandered where his heart did please, but pleasure slipped by small degrees. A random walk, no certain line: the storms in life were kept at bay. But with no star to point or shine, he, ere awares, had lost his way. Once jubilant, his raucous dance had brought him to a wide expanse. There in the field, he saw them toil; relentlessly, they stored away the harvest so as not to spoil, to see them through a future day. He should have marvelled at their craft; instead, he skipped off with a laugh. The weather turned, conditions grim; he found no respite from the storm. A fleeting thought occurred to him: that colony was nice and warm, but having not the strength to fight, succumbed, unconscious, to the night. The ants took pity: although he was thirsting, cold, and oh so thin, and time would pass before he'd be industrious, they took him in. "Why wasn't I just disavowed?" he wondered, this time not so loud…