Ants.

Ants.
As I walk to the garden I see
A Small little army of ants marching towards me
I watch them carefully as they march in their formal manner
Though I would rather them turn the other way
I told her I would meet her
I told her this very day
I would meet her by the beach
So I summoned up my courage to walk past the ants
In my mind each
Is mortally afraid of me with my angst
But this is not true
Even if I get past an army of ants
They will still be will not be able to do
What most I fear of them
I know I’m Not Making sense
But you heave to admit I have rhythm
Even though I do , as I make this poem I’m kind of tense
Because I just about me
Going to meet her by the beach
Some ants walking past with glee
While they go past me without trying to reach