Gone to Ground
Ants come marching down the tree.
They're on their way to murder me.
Above me is a dragonfly.
Who I guarantee wants me to die.
...
Crickets chirp their deadly song.
Armed with twigs they march along.
Seek some help from an earthworm.
But it burrows down, all aid it spurns.
...
Then a rustle from the trees.
A squadron launched, a hundred bees.
With their needles seek to sting.
This tiny, fleshy, human thing.
...
Flee, but stumble into web.
Then, I see with sense of dread,
Hissing spider, type red-back.
Like all these bugs it's on attack.
...
Break free, run cross grass and leaves.
Chest is burning, weak in knees.
I even ask for aid from slug.
But its feelers give indifferent shrug.
...
In the yard so much to see.
But it wants to murder me.
Price of shrinking, being grounded.
Now I'm by these bugs surrounded.
...
Even shorter than the grass.
Cannot say how long I'll last.
Every day my loss bemoan,
Wish to unshrink, to be back home.