The Ant

Upon a small island within a large ocean,
I went for a walk on a warm Autumn day
‘Cross cliffs that were fissured by saltwater spray
And polished by breezes of circular motion.

I came to the headland that thrust out its chin
With arrogant air to the rippling blue,
And I stretched in the grass to admire the view
And watch the great rollers come lumbering in.

And then by my sandal, I spied a small ant
Ascending a tuber of rich emerald grass.
With each gust he paused to allow it to pass,
And I fancy I heard him puff loudly and pant.

Slowly he followed this gruelling ascent.
From stalk he progressed to the wavering blade,
Which made him clutch tightly each time that it swayed.
A puff of his cheeks and then onward he went.

On reaching the summit, he never gave pause,
But turned and crawled quickly the way he had come,
A pointless adventure, I fancied, to some,
But worthy of thund’ring and lengthy applause.

I smiled at this scurrying insect because,
To him, that one blade at the end of the earth
Was more than the whole of the planet was worth,
And where is the man to deny that it was?