Ode to Ants

In silence you labor,

both small and uncelebrated

your little feet move in perfect stride

rhythm older than time itself.

What drives you,

to march on without pause,

you carry nothing, yet everything,

every grain of sand a piece of the world?

No praise, no glory—

only the steady hum of purpose,

every act small,

but together,

a bond that holds the earth together.

O ants, in your silent toil,

you tell us:

life is not in the reaching,

but in the doing,

a quiet, endless doing.