Where I wondered I know not,

But now I have an Eden found.

O how much I love the splendor,
O how near I'd kiss the ground.
This garden, this garden,
O how much this garden I love.
My heart is so far from hardened,
That I feel as light as dove.
Stroll I through the grasses,
And meet a brother on the streets.
Speak to this brother and he said,
That such a pleasure it was to greet.
The flora and fauna all around,
Played hand in hand with all the smiles.
I feel the warmth beneath my feet,
As the sun shines with a guile.
What be the source of this joy I wonder,
What be the source of where we live?
I speak around to all I know,
And the same answer all my antsy patrons give.
The gardener, the gardener,
Is she not the reason why,
Why we laugh when we do,
The reason we seldom cry.
This place so new to my being,
I wonder what lies out there.
I will now journey past this area,
And find myself towards the rear.
Past the bushels I now roam,
Though now I feel the rough of earth.
Was it right to leave my home,
And venture through the gardens girth.?
The ants I meet are so slender,
As compared to the other side.
I sense no sense of splendor,
As my fear I try to hide.
I asked them as I did the others,
Who be the source of this air.
The answer I soon received,
Made me feel a tinge of fear.
 "The gardena, the gardena,
Is she not the source?
Is this gardener not mad,
That she'd let debt run its course?"
Questions upon questions came,
All within my mind.
What could have happened to these ants,
To make them think the gardener unkind.
I asked them of the gardener,
And all had quickly said,
That if the gardener continues work,
All the ants would be dead.
"Da gardeners hand are unstable,
Har hands are aged and weary.
She run weh from har modda,
And planted way too early."
"Yung gyal she may be,
Har bones are old and ti-yad.
Can you not see de tomato plants,
Are all dead, none have near respi-yad."
They berated me with their answers,
So loud, so crude they lost their minds.
Perhaps if I went into garden deeper,
I might see what truths I'll find.
So much less light within the view,
O how much shade there is.
If any live, there are quite few,
I wager their lives are fizz.
Lo!
What lies before my eyes!
All the ants within my sight,
Are skinny, thin and dry.
And be the reason for your strife,
I asked the ants, no banter.
And with the last of her life,
She whispered to me her answer.
"Wo-yoo! Di gardena is onwell,
She have no want fi ansa,
All de grievance dat we shell,
She is wa col and rootless monsta..."
 Away her life extinguished…
Another tugged at my sleeve.
His face was laced in anguish.
He said as I tried to leave.
"Be warn strange ant,
Af where you aim to go.
Dis gardena ya a sycophant,
Di wan you aught fi know.
It nuh dat she dough nat wan to help,
It es simply dat shi cyaan.
Have de adahs not told yuh,
Dat har finga dem no stranga dan wah ant."
I wonder lost and heart hardened
I would ne'er again want kiss the ground.
My heart is heavy, unlike a dove,
Heavy wails in my ears resound.

So dark, so bleak, so lightless…

But not so fast!
I see a light in the distance,
So faint though, if light were glass.
A faint azure glow is in my eye,
I see an ant so close to cry.
I walk closer, so close to see.
That this ant had paid the fee.
She was a spirit of body gone,
But before a word I could say,
She said to me, my only light,
In this total dark display.
"We ants will have no purpose.
With her digits she cannot plant.
We people are her horcrux.
Her soul too weak to lend a hand.
She and her fingers are not worth,
As much as they were in past.
Her magic touch is gone,
She will fall, she will not last.
 She cannot fight,
She cannot stand.
Do what we could not,
And leave this land."
The spirit faded soon thereafter.
And then I heard a thud.
I ran and ran and ran some more,
Tripping over corpses in mud.
In light again I saw a horror,
Of one I thought eye ne'er would wed,
There lies the gardener on the soil,
Fallen, cold and dead.