Departmental Poem By Robert Frost

Departmental Poem By Robert Frost,

An ant on the tablecloth,
Ran into a donnant moth,
Of many tImes rus size,
He showed not the least surpnse.
HIS bUSIness wasn’t wIth such.
He gave it scarcely a touch,
And was off on rus duty run.
Yet If he encountered one
Of the hive’s enquiry squad
Whose work is to find out God
And the nature of time and space,
He would put him onto the case.
Ants are a curious race;
One crossIng WIth hunied tread
The body of one of their dead
Isn’t given a moment’s arrestSeems not even impressed.
But he no doubt reports to any
With whom he crosses antennae,
And they no doubt report
To the higher up at court.
Then word goes forth in Formic:
‘Death’s come to Jerry McConnic,
Our selfless forager Jerry.
‘ViII the special Janizary
‘Vhose office it is to bury
The dead of the commissary
Go bnng him home to his people.
Lay him in state on a sepal.
Wrap him for shroud in a petal.
Embalm him with ichor of nettle.
This IS the word of your Queen’
And presently on tne scene
Appears a solemn mortician,
And talung formal posItion
With feelers calmly atwiddle,
SeIzes the dead by the mIddle,
And heavmg hIm hIgh in air,
Carnes mm out of there.
Noone stands round to stare.
It is nobody else~s affaIr.
It couldn’t be called ungentle.
But how thoroughly departmental.

Departmental Poem By Robert Frost

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