The Attack (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.
YOU ARE READING
Poem a Week Challenge
PoetryHello to the Poets Pub Poem-a-Week Challenge. We are challenging all of our members to start their own collection and write a poem each week. Here we will be featuring all of the authors who are participating as well as some of their poems. We wi...
