The working ant

I stole he said. I took what was not mine he said. Even if it was given to me by free will. And oh the names I was called.

But look at my wealth now, look at my piles of fine food and drinks and all those goods, some exotic and rare, brought to me from the edge of the world. Some of them I would never even dream myself possessing. All those are the fruits of my very own labor, no matter of what he says.

This winter will find me watching the lazy grasshoppers crawling around and begging for the goods. And it will be me, making the choices of who deserves what and who not. And those moments will be truly sweet, believe me.