This ant’s wings’ve fled, so sterile is she.
The saddest in drone myrmecology.
She’s dry and she’s clean like
Your spinsterish aunt.
Make sure what you tread on—
That it ain’t an aunt ant.
All Poetry © Dennis N. O'Brien, 2010 - 2019
Anthropology, linguistics, archaeology, and writing systems
Carmina et Verba pro Discipulis Meis
Reading, writing and a-rhythmic tics
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