(An ant at a picnic)

I am a general of two thousand,
twelve thousand legs
in lock-step discipline.

The enemy,
focused on each other's eyes
and crusty chicken,
chomping loudly,
spilling blessed crumbs
among the blades of grass,
and on the blanket,
around the cross-legged
skin of giants.

We rush in quickly,
a straight line,
swift and silent,
grabbing our treasure
before we are ever seen.

Victory!
We are now homeward bound
with well-earned bounty
and ready for another day.