Johnny Wraith Stories

Wandering the numerous hills of mine
Looking for ocean or for sea.
When under my feet I find
A world of soft tranquility.

Leaning down in admiration
Of nature's fine laws in place
On this hill, a smaller hill
Thrives peaceably, without a state.

Time matters not to these inhabitants
As long as they work the day through
They worry not of higher beings
Yes, religion is absent too.

Little utopians living merrily
Each of them knowing their own place
Serving their queen in undying loyalty
I wish men would do the same

Gazing at the black soldiers marching
Around the sands of their home
Protecting their queen from incoming visitors
Such as me, eyes wide and grown

Little do they know I am,
But a passerby, reveling
In the lifestyle shown
I chuckle and as I'm walking
I drop an apple core for their home.

Leo,
Thanks for sharing this poem.
I can see the anthill swarming with ants.
You make me wonder what it is all about:
Will the greatest joy be found in simply flowing along in our labors, whatever they might be?
Is questioning and pondering, nothing more than a pause from the natural flow of things, a diversion from simply being?
You make me think about why I am not writing: why I am currently only pondering why I am not writing and not simply sitting down and hitting the keys.
Thanks,
Johnny