Ant-hill lessons

Crawling things flee before the towering
Toddler with curious hands.
He digs through dirt without fear, even
When pain sears his fingers
By the bites from a few score ants.
Dirt grains subsumed by small
Red bodies scurrying about the grass leaves,
Up small arms where they plant
An unkind kiss before suffering
A warrior’s death.
They, too, suffer an unknown pain,
For their world, too, has come down
Above their antennaed crowns
By an unbidden child curious
To play within the earth’s ground.
But the ground and dirt and grass leaves
Are their home, and we must learn that,
While their bites hurt, they fight for
Their right to live in their homes—
The hill beneath your young feet is
Well-trodden by life.
Count these bites as a rite of knowledge:
The world is full of curious, crawling things
All just fighting to live another spring.