Crawling Workers
A nature poem
Ingrained within the umber soil,
Oaken, rotted green.
Buried deep, long forgotten.
Within these sights unseen,
Nature’s soldiers work and toil.
They scrape and tear with tooth and claw,
Bite and gnaw decay.
Misbegotten, though they creep.
Feast they will, upon their prey,
Then to their mounds, a swift withdrawal.
Their endless work of labors seen,
An endless march and haul.
To steal the scraps, all such ill-gotten.
To heed the higher, noble call,
And bring these morsels to their queen.