An enormous army of hungry red ants,
marching in long lines from their mound,
invade not-yet-in-bloom peony plants
to whose honey sweet nectar they are bound.
Suddenly their mound comes under attack
from ferocious–jumping, kicking, stomping–feet.
Dirt, sticks and sand go flying with every whack.
In no time the anthill’s annihilation is complete.
“Well done, little lad!” exclaims a neighbor.
“Come indoors, Eddie, your lunch is ready,”
a doting grandma calls from her back door.
“Don’t let the soup get cold. Hurry, Eddie!”
Waving to her neighbor: “Such a good boy,
so polite, so gentle and kind. He’s a joy.”
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