Poetry for Ants

I try to make the writing small;
try to mix sugar with my ink.
The ants take no notice at all.
I cannot think the way they think.

Sometimes it puts me in a rage
to watch their miniscule ant herds
crossing the plateau of the page,
completely ignoring the words.

I haven’t got their compound eyes.
I can’t see the world that they see,
where every small thing's giant sized.
Will they ever understand me?

Perhaps I should not even try.
They bite too much and acid stings.
Though some can climb and others fly,
their minds aren’t made for higher things.