All summer long,
Found herself wanting
When the north wind came.
Not a single glade,
Trail or bowl
She went begging for some powder stashes
To her neighbour the Ant,
Asking her to lend her
Just a few snow flakes to get by
Until the next season.
"I will pay you back, she said,
Before August, animal's honor,
Interest and principal."
The Ant is no lender:
This is the least of her faults.
"What were you doing during the warm days?
She said to this borrower.
--Night and day no matter what
I was singing, like it or not.
--You were singing? I'm very glad:
Very well, start dancing now."
Are you an Ant type or more a Cicada?
How's your gardening doing?
)
