One day, an Ant and a Fly were engaged in a dispute over their respective worth. The Fly boasted to the Ant, "You are a vile and lowly insect. How can you compare yourself to me? I soar on the wing like a bird, and I can enter the palaces of kings and princes, and even emperors. I land on their heads, and I also visit the altars of the gods. Not a sacrifice is made that I don't taste, and I can attend any feast and eat and drink the best of everything."
The Ant replied, "All that may be true, but hear me out. You boast about your feasting, but you know very well that your diet is not always choice. Sometimes you are forced to eat things that I wouldn't touch. As for landing on the heads of kings and emperors, you know that they shake you off with impatience, whether you land on their heads or on the head of an ass. And as for the altars of the gods, you are nothing but a nuisance there, just as you are everywhere else. In the winter, while I feed at my ease on the fruit of my labor, it's common to see your friends dying from cold, hunger, and fatigue."
The Ant then concluded, "I don't want to waste any more time talking to you. All your chatter will not fill my bin or cupboard." Realizing the futility of their argument, the Fly flew away, and the Ant continued with its work.
Once upon a giggly afternoon, a Fly was zooming around like it had just had three cups of sugar. It spotted an Ant, busy as always, carrying a piece of food that was waaay bigger than it was. The Fly buzzed down, hovering dramatically in the air.
"Hey there, buddy! Look at you, working so hard! You really don't get it, do you? I'm the real star in the insect world! I can zoom through the air like the coolest superhero, land on the heads of kings and queens, and even crash the fanciest parties!"
The Ant looked up, wiping its brow as if it were sweating from all the hard work. "Superhero, eh? More like a super-pest! You say you're a VIP? But your meals are more like last-minute leftovers. Have you ever even tasted a fresh crumb?"
The Fly tried to look offended but buzzed a tiny laugh instead. "Well, a party's a party, right? Any food is good food!"
"Ah, the eternal optimist," the Ant teased. "But tell me this, Mr. Party Animal, how do the kings and queens feel when you 'grace' them with your presence?"
The Fly made a face, "Well, they're always so surprised they try to give me a high-five!"
"You mean they swat at you," the Ant corrected, doing a little shuffle dance for emphasis. "You're not exactly the popular one at those royal dos, are you?"
The Ant then pointed with its antenna toward the sky. "And let's not forget the fanciest parties you claim to crash. You might be buzzing around their delicious spreads, but you're like that guy at the party who tells bad jokes—no one wants to stand next to you!"
The Ant sighed, "While you're out there, freezing and searching for a crumb to eat this winter, I'll be in my comfy ant-hill, dining like it's Thanksgiving every day!"
Finally, the Ant said, "So, you see, I've got a food stash to build, and not a second to waste on chit-chat and empty buzzes."
The Fly paused, probably for the first time ever. "Hmm, you do have a point," it admitted and buzzed away, perhaps to find another creature that would listen to its rambles.
The Ant chuckled and went back to its work, happy and busy, knowing it was better to be all work and some play rather than all talk and no action.
Fly buzzed by, as loud as could be,
Said, "Ant, you're no match for me!
I dance in the air, a ballet in the sky,
While you scurry on ground, oh, why even try?"
"I dine with the kings, sit at altars divine,
Nibble fine feasts, sip on heavenly wine."
Fly grinned and twirled, so smug and so grand,
Sure she was queen of both air and land.
Ant chuckled softly, "Fly, hear me clear,
Your boasting's loud but it's me you should fear.
You sip on leftovers, let's call it by name,
A scavenger’s life, that's really your game."
"You buzz by kings, but what is your aim?
They swat you away, you're all the same.
You're not a guest, just a pest they disdain,
Whether by royals or donkeys, you're slain."
"In winter’s chill, when skies are gray,
I feast on my toil’s yield, hooray!
But you, dear Fly, with nowhere to stay,
End up cold, starved, and fading away."
"No more words, Fly, I've labors to do,
Your chatter's empty as the wind that blew."
Fly sighed, knew she was beat, flew out of sight,
While Ant marched on, her path so right.
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