Like tiny sparks equipped for every chore,
They wake to forage for the nest and hearth,
Sustaining life from floor to forest floor,
In stone-scented tunnels underneath the earth.
Forever moving, swift and quick to grow,
Beneath the leaves and tangled, hazy coils,
They dive where hidden, dark currents flow,
Deep in the richness of the loam and soils.
They march past trees and tightly creeping vines,
As if the wide world were their own estate,
On rooftops, bridges, and along riverlines,
Where micro-kingdoms intertwine their fate.
The tireless ants, in heavy numbers bound,
Stream like a river, dark and richly bright,
Spurring the system with a force profound,
As fierce and restless as a lark in flight.
Though seeming small, they tirelessly strive,
Enduring strains within an endless race,
To gather elements that keep life alive,
And fill the bustling world with hidden grace.
