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That king known for wisdom
(and some other things)
once wrote,
Go to the ant.
When my world grew small
in the summer of our discontent,
some days it was hard to go on.
I went.
I bent and watched.
One two-tone ant,
Red and black.
She pulled and pushed
one round elm seed,
Trying to get over
a tiny
(to me)
lip above a crack
in the walk.
She couldn't
with her load.
She tried.
Three times.
She backed down.
Perhaps to judge
the height of it.
To calculate logistics.
I don't know.
She came back
and pushed again.
She didn't make it.
She backed down.
Perhaps to rest.
I thought she'd given up.
But she kept on.
Up and up.
Back and down.
Stop. Start.
She kept on.
She kept on.
And then
She and her seed
crested the ridge.
She kept on.
The word kept was brought to you by Connie Dryfout, a Canadian friend who has been kept in the hand of the Holy Mother and who has kept on.


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