We arrived at the cute little cottage;
Nestled amongst young alder trees,
Gently swaying in the soft breeze
We unpacked n’ put groceries away
Donned comfortable duds n’ felt fine
It was quiet, as we were far off “101 hwy”
We set out snacks n’ poured red wineA local café name “Rising Star”
Ate seared salmon n’ seafood chowder
Our friend Nancy had told us;
“It’s the best food in Wheeler by far”
After a long stroll we were tired
We decided to head off to bedA good nights sleep we required
As our weekend adventure lay ahead
During the night we heard faint marching chants
Ignoring the sound we went back to snoring
Unaware we’d been invaded by an army of ants
Who came to make war n’ plunder till morning
We awakened to the sound of birds singing
As they ate from a hanging bird feeder
Off in the distance church bells were ringing
Inviting all to come hear the gospel of Saint Peter
I went in the kitchen n’ put on water to boil
To make coffee, as was our custom
Then I saw them, was aghast n’ did recoil
As the tiny army scattered to find asylum
Some were stuck in the honey pot
Some had drowned in the sink
Some ran off to avoid being caught
To an underground den they did slink
As in most stories, there’s an ending
This one shall be no exception
Survival depends on adapting n’ bending
When faced with a hostile reception
ROTMS
Events described above (though highly exaggerated) took place while on a recent beach getaway
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