On Seeing a Squashed Ant

Alas! poor creature in untimely death!

What mannered foot or shoe bid thee this rest?

Thou unacknowledged worker of the brood,

Would shoulder fallen leaf or broken root…

Yet thou art here, in speck of mangled flesh!

Oh! Life is short while Time will soon be scarce,

And one be prudent as to see how rude

Existence pushes us to seek and shoot

For stars and moon, then pulls us to despair

In disappointing scrapes and grief’s dark lair

Of loss. So treasure what you have in Now,

For soon it will be Then, and troubles new

Will seek your bright blue skies where joy once flew,

And Death will come as darkness shades your brow.


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