Ants Unmarching (Learning About Death)

for Rodney

Peering closely, crouching down
Close as possible to the ground
His impish eyes stare
Ignoring bustling grown-ups
Brushing by with cares

The tiny specks amaze
Their endless movements race
Swarming in his boyish wonder
Hardly noting piles of junk
With yard sale treasured plunder

He reaches out in sheer delight
And grasps in fists held tight
He trips along with special find
Assuring no escape
In fingertips entwined

He holds them out in childish stride
to feel his mother's pride
But shrieks at his now broken toys
His mother can't protect
Her sobbing little boy

1 comment:

Lorraine said...

How well I remember! Seemed like the destruction of innocence in that boyish wonder.