I only have a measly ant

To think with today.

Others have pictures of saints,

Others have clouds in the sky.

The winter might be at the door,

For he’s all alone

And in a hurry to hide.

Nevertheless, unable to decide

He retraces his steps

Several times and finds himself

On a huge blank wall

That has no window.

Dark masses of trees

Cast their mazes before him,

Only to erase them next

With a sly, sea-surging sound.