Poetry Porch: Poetry

 

CONVERSATION WITH THE ANT
By Celia Gilbert

Rude fellow,
itís my house
and you donít even say hello.

***
If I donít exist
for you, are you saying
I donít matter?

***
I see you alone
but you have
more friends than I.

***
Is it my spilt milk
or my crumb
you desire?

***
Big to your little,
little to anotherís big . . .
all things measure.

***
When you were only a few
I laughed,
the many frighten.

***
How neat you are,
not a leg out
of place.

***
Black is always
in style. You know that
donít you?

***
You want something sweet,
so we do share
something.


Copyright © 2015 by Celia Gilbert.