One bright summer’s day
After a
month of cloud and rain,
The world
has rotated again,
So, it is the day for Princesses to fly.
But these
fine ladies will not take to air
In private
helicopters or personal jet planes.
No servants
will ply them inflight
With caviar,
canapes, or champagne.
They will
not emerge through palace gates
In coaches,
limousines or cavalcades;
They’ll
crawl from pavement cracks
And holes in
the ground
To make
their desperate escapades.
Most won’t
survive this first and last flight,
When their
thin wings glitter like jewels in the sun
Predators see
them and eagerly eat them.
Those who
remain can fall back to land.
And if jaws don’t
grasp them
Or feet don’t
stomp them,
The lucky survivors,
the last pretty Princesses,
Will lose their wings and make it to refuge
Beneath stone slabs or compost heaps
But once
burrowed in safely, they will not sleep.
They’ll
build cities of workers
For thousands
of children
The reign of
the Ant Queen is long, dark and deep.
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