Watching ants a-scurrying,
O'er pavement, dirt or soil,
Their world, just a garden,
Where they do all their toil.
They scurry all directions,
No atlas, map, cell phone,
They have an innate radar,
To keep them, where they're going.
For sustenance they're searching,
Their tiny bodies, feed,
No superstores in their world,
To supply all they need.
Beyond the realms of universe,
We too, like scurrying ants,
Scurry here and thither
To provide for our wants.
We're seen by the Creator,
He knows each of us well,
Why, He knows all our 'ins and outs',
Created every cell.
Comments
Post a Comment