When “Anty Pheromone” comes to call,
We just can’t sit still
Her perfume entreat us,
To follow in her drill,

We play marching soldiers,
In organised parade,
Straight through kitchen cupboards,
Window sills and shades,

In winding complex tunnels,
We descend along the halls,
Our sticky feet unite us,
As we climb upon the walls,

Straight into the bathroom,
We spiral down the drain,
Leaving phero perfume,
To track the way we came,

Trudging in the down pipe,
Stamping mucky feet,
Tapping with our feelers,
To find the place we seek,

Then we’re in the garden,
And do the strangest thing,
We form a line with food scraps
And run around the bin,

Our insect eyes rotating,
Seek borders from afar,
Antennae ever sweeping,
Locate signals with radar,

With Queenly wings a flutter,
Heavy packs upon our backs,
We’re off to build new colonies,
Never crossing over tracks,

Upon a hill we settle in,
And dig with rapid pace,
Our tri-paired legs retreating,
Beneath the earthen waste,

We build a mighty city,
Just to suit a Queen,
Interweaving chambers,
Such has not been seen,

Playtime has to end,
Our Anty has to go,
Saluting our platoon,
We’re glad because we know,

Although the Sun has waned,
And we must march to bed,
We’ll continue our parade,
When, Anty Pheromone calls again.

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