The ants march, soldier-like,
across the pavement at my feet.
They spend their days in labors great,
but stop to gnaw on something sweet.
They do not see me standing here.
They have no eyes for matters such
as I consider in my days.
To them, my thoughts don't matter much.
And, too, I really can't imagine
what, if anything, they know.
Do they, like I, believe they're more
than just a spot upon my toe?
Perhaps they're not so foolish.

Lauren Lilly, 1993