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An Ant’s Perspective
The carpet is a mountain range
The giant men look rather strange
When you’re an ant.
The soaked mud freezes under snow
Tunnels turn cold and dark below
When you’re an ant.
The glass-walled cage they watch you in
Their fingers tap out booming din
When you’re an ant.
The sand you bear upon your back
The food you take to fight the lack
When you’re an ant.
Antennas curled in slight embrace
You speak of sugar, show the place
When you’re an ant.
The grass builds skyscrapers in spring
And you can climb most anything
When you’re an ant.
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