Ant Artic

It is not enough to be a crazy individual; I also have a few humans dubbed as friends who assist me occasionally. One and I sat discussing the life cycle of another, and then much later, at some point between a unbridled night-sweat and an early cup of coffee, I got this urge to compose. I hereby now dedicate the following lines to my frond-friendly Dicksonia and my loosely-geared Gyro.

I went to an Artic picnic
But ants had beat me there
So I went and searched for several days
To discover me a polar bear

All I found was a howling wind
And not one bear I could call my friend
I stood and stared at outer space
With a big beach towel wrapped around my face
Thinking, this is it, then I’m undone
And I am out of here

I took my time and troubles
And packed them all to leave
Then I wiped my runny nose which froze
On the cuff of a very long sleeve

I left behind those Artic ants
Before they could move inside my pants
Who, trying to avoid this bitter chill
Might climb above the Big Knee Hill
And cause me to yell and draw a mob
Just great. Now I feel a tickle