A Line Of Busy Ants

         A line of ants, industriously stretched
         along my sill, dashes of black business.
         A scout was sent, the whole colony fetched,
         to tramp unquestioning to food’s address.

         Endless wave, in steadfast wriggly line -
         a grain borne away in stoic triumph;
         and yet behind, pour more brethren in search of that
         sticky bounty of careless coffee mug on sill.

         Probing fingers gently lift up spoon.
         Suddenly, scattering swirling ant flight -
         abandonment of aim, affirms defeat.
         Today they’re gone, future - who knows or cares?

---~`~~--_----~~``-~.._`---~`~~--_----~~``-~.._`---~`~~--_----~~``-~.._`---~`~~--_----~~``-~.._

Week Eleven: A Dorsimbra a complex form consisting of three parts
1. A Shakespearean quatrain (four lines iambic pentameter rhymed abab),
2. A quatrain of “short and snappy” free verse, and
3. A quatrain of blank verse (unrhymed iambic pentameter).
Device:Oxymoron
Optional prompt: Looking out of a window...(eyes fall upon a line of ants on the wall outside ...coming in to a sticky sugar residue in a coffee mug left on the window sill.)