THE FATE OF THE ANT

He had a big head, and preferred to be fed

Day in, day out, without a doubt

By the puny ones, who in his eyes,

Were there not to be served and that was all they deserved

Pain was his name, Terror was his fame

He gnashed, crushed and cut,

And just like that

He had a thought

That he could win against any human caught….

So, he went forth gaily, Feeling all gutsy and haughty,

And lashed and gnashed, as the human thrashed and screamed

He was pleased, he could not be released

Not until they submitted, then he would be appeased

But he miscalculated, the human was agitated

In one swoop he was plucked, clearly he lacked

The ability to see ahead

And just like that, he lost his head

And now

The poor ant is dead.