Akin to tiny green umbrellas walking in a line
Attas cut out perfect leaf-discs, working overtime
Each one carries a heavy load, marching in a row
Guided by a scent trail to their colony below.
They carry the harvest home, a burden of leaves
Into the dark where the Great Fungus weaves
This not for ingestion, but as substrate and soil
A subterranean nest built on ceaseless, hard toil.
Deep in the dark complex, tiny gardeners tend
A pale and icy fungus, indeed a life-giving friend
Fungus feeds on leaf-pulp the cutters bring home
An ancient, locked bond in a subterranean dome.
A farm within darkness, where light cannot reach
Ants thrive, and a symbiotic relationship they teach
From leaf-pulp and fungus, their miniature nation
Spurs out millions of births in a steady creation.
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