MUSIC FOR SALE

Ant grew weary of city’s loud song,
But breaking out took far too long.
Dublin held tight like a wire-bound gate,
The dream of escape met a stubborn fate.

When M50 lay like a sleeping snake,
The ant paused — too much was at stake.
To cross by day meant certain doom,
She waited till night in the motorway gloom.

I travel, I travel, then I return,
I travel, I travel, then pause and learn.
Sometimes I fly, sometimes I fall,
I run, I crawl… till I’m no ant at all.

“Three bushes? Easy!” she gave a grin,
But two years passed in greeny sin.
She came out old, with moss on chin,
Swearing she’d never hike again.

At last she reached Donegal’s shore,
But the land she dreamed of was there no more.
Twelve-fifty ant trails had faded away,
And Dublin now whispered, “Come home someday.”

I travel, I travel, then I return,
I travel, I travel, then pause and learn.
Sometimes I fly, sometimes I fall,
I run, I crawl… till I’m no ant at all.