34

Smash the anthill, burn the hive
See the bankrupt insect scramble,
One to the hill to rebuild it,
The other to foreign hives unwelcome,
Stung and left to die.

Taste the honey, see the hill—
The mill of mindless labour
That brought to man his fruits—
The thought of all these creatures,
Thought out long ago.

The wheel was fashioned, set to spin:
We who wait and work upon it
Can nothing but hold
For the hill to be rebuilt,
Welcomed in the hive.


© Dan Goorevitch, 2003