Poetry in the Woods

The Ant and the Leaves

As the young ant drone marched over a stone,
He spotted a gold and scarlet flake drifting down.

His pinchers spread wide in a gleeful smile.
Autumn was here; it had taken a while.

"This is perfect," thought the ant, keeping one of his eyes
On the leaf as it fell; it was just the right size.

He saw it land; and, with all the strength he found,
Scrambled over stick and stone to where it hit the ground.

"Just one more," he thought, looking up at the sky.
A spot of deep orange and red drifted by.

It floated down through the branches into the garden bed.
Among the towering stalks, he could still see the red.

The little drone made a squeak of delight
And ran with one leaf in his pinchers held tight.

With both leaves now, he tied the two stems
Around his thorax and over his limbs

The leaves unfurled on either side
And he used his back legs to press them out wide

Until they looked just perfect, as if he could fly.
And he marched proudly on declaring, "I am a butterfly."