Donald P. Goodman III
I look upon the ant; he seems so small! So small I barely see him on the wall; labor'ously he struggles with a seed as light as air; yet still he lets it fall.
He gathers it because his queen has need, a massive brood which she will have to feed; his colony's the world to him; he knows no other world, conceives no broader creed.
I follow with my eyes as my friend goes back to his colony, o'er highs and lows; he struggles mightily along the way, traversing what, to him, great hardships pose,
but onto which I scarcely eyes can lay. No matter what, his queen he will obey; but as I watch, a bird at wing swoops low and makes my friend, the lab'ring ant, his prey.
So perishes a world at one fell blow; what else can ant or colony e'er know? For them, the universe is but that spot, and no one them the wider world can show.
They cannot see that well beyond their lot there lies a world which all the ants know not; a world with more than ants and boogeymen, with intricate and many-threaded plot.
The ant has fed the bird; the bird may then give joy to some bird-watcher in the glen, who with this joy may now be kind to me; and where the chain may end, I cannot ken.
The world is greater than we'll ever see, its webs more intricate than we can be; some ends cannot be seen e'en by the wise; to trust in one who sees them, we must flee.