A rabble of ants are congregating
around a grubby piece of human waste.
They'd get crushed if they stood about waiting
so they gorge on its worth in sudden haste.
Footsteps rumble like one thousand battle drums
alerting them that they must end their feast
and so they carry off their atlas crums
scurrying away from the frightful beast.
But alas thir steps did not match his stride
and their soles dropped under his dark sole's shade
on the day thousands of families died
leaving one thousand more broken and frayed.
A simple walk, meaning nothing at all
is a disaster to something so small.
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