The Ants go Marching

A bright sunny day,

The wind gentle and warm;

We rustle through the grass

A hundred of us, a small ant swarm.

The large oak tree,

Spreads its shade around;

And from beneath its branches,

Aromas and smells abound.

A group of two legged creatures,

Those tall clumsy and cruel ones;

Sit on green grass, moving their maws,

Around them a little one runs,

The sun moves high, below the grass,

We wait patiently, in shade;

And before the day is done,

They leave and we can raid.

In strict lines we attack,

Each of us carrying a crumb;

Soon the grass is swept clean,

The spoils we collect with aplomb.

A picnic for the two legged ones,

Is just a day's work for us;

What you leave is scraps and chips,

The bounty we collect with no fuss.