The Miniature Calligrapher - Poem

There was an artist named Homer
who could write on the head of a pin,
but—as small as it was—
wasn’t good enough for him.
How many times can you write, he asked
the Lord’s Prayer on the head of a pin,
and the Twenty-Third Psalm on the shaft,
without seeking new worlds to conquer,
without finding new standards to pass.
So smaller and smaller he printed,
and finer and finer his tools:
the hair of a bee his pen,
his tablet a mustard seed,
his work the sayings of men.
For who, you might wonder,
and where, and when?
But artists do what they must,
the purpose comes from within.
One day while eating a sandwich,
the ants were scavenging crumbs.
Ah, said Homer, a challenge.
To the open mind, it comes!
He gathered the crumbs and waited
until they were hard as a rock
and with the finest of pens,
wrote messages for the flock.
The ants collected his work
and took it away to their nest
parading this proud message
to whom it suited best—
God save the queen...
God save the queen...
God save the queen...
God save the queen...

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