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HOPPER AND THE ANTS
©Gary Bowman

One summer’s day, I did see, While resting ‘neath a hick’ry tree
Waltzing in the witherin’ heat, The ants did march on tiny feet
High above, on grassy knoll, a Hopper also watched the show
And on a fiddle he did play, His merry tunes throughout the day.

The ants worked hard, or so I’m told, preparing for the winter’s cold.
They built their house and stored their food, Until a bounty, they accrued
Ants thought Hopper was a fool, Hopper thought the ants weren’t cool
And, so he played another tune, and danced beneath the Summer Moon.

Summer ended, all too soon,  Still Hopper played his merry tune
Days grew cold, the nights drew long, The snows soon silenced Hopper’s song.
The ants, content, and warm and fed,  Snuggled in their cozy beds,
They all agreed, they missed those days, When Hopper, on his fiddle played

One by one, they marched outside, And searched for Hopper far and wide
At the base of yonder cliff, They found ol’ Hopper, frozen stiff
They carried him to their cavern wide, And warmed him by the fireside
As Hopper’s wings began to thaw, He grabbed that fiddle, he did saw

There’s some that work, and some that play, And some that fret their lives away
And those that make the world spin, By sharing all that dwells within,
There’s a place for you and me, Dancing ‘neath the hick’ry tree,
So grab your fiddle, play a tune, and dance beneath the Harvest Moon.