A budding growth of tender blush,
li’l red sprouts on the underbrush,
thus I was born with brethren few,
rush of life on a green bough new.
We slowly turned a verdant green,
growing and flaunting a silky sheen,
seasons came on and bade goodbye,
we stood through all wet cold or dry.
Some were nibbled yet some chewed,
some were plucked for food or feud,
slowly some withered over a span,
a few quite leafy others deep tan.
The bough has now turned a fawn,
I am the last one to see this dawn,
holding on tight I shall not yet rest,
cause there still is some life in the weaver ant’s nest…
there still is some life in the weaver ant’s nest!
– Narendra Nayak © 2019