‘ Neath my window a rock wall sits
With hidden doors and window slits,
Replete with active teeming sound
Vast citadel beneath the ground,
That harbouring foreign lifestyle
Wherein performed dull task worthwhile.
I count the species large and small
Barely some I can see at all,
Dirtbound hordes reckless and gleaning,
Through small channels rapid streaming,
The weariness of numbers grows
Past my fingers, beyond my toes.
I query do they toil by night
How do they see without sunlight,
My thoughts grow restless and weary
To fathom such deep mystery.
Oh grub, and worm, and ant, and bee
You are great wonderment to me,
This feeding place for hungry bird
No din of war or hatred heard
What do you know of compromise
In your safe sheltered paradise?
Claire V. Bogdanos 