of grasses, gold and iron

There was an age when ants with grasses slept,
And peace and comfort always were at hand,
But gold will fade when such is lightly kept;
When lightly kept just flows through grasp as sand.

Then thought, in forming for the soul, should prone,
Should loosen grip, and change an ant, the ant,
And soon, the ant must live as ant alone.
As iron proved, the golden ant must die-

That old age laced with gold, was it a lie?
Now grasses are the enemy of the ant,
And conquest is the only proper way-
For iron must defeat the savage gold.

music man

A music man may never earn a dime
So long as new songs do arrive in time,
For if the first tune to the fifth soon turns,
He learns the first and plays the fifth, no earns!

melody

Each day this song continues,
Each high note and low note
Adds to this wonderful melody.

Harmonies fade in and out,
Sometimes affecting this melody,
Sometimes affected by this melody.

Thus it has been played
So quietly for years,
Until its audience was all but deaf to it.

Then it was stressed,
Then it wanted to be heard,
But its audience heard no more.

Time had deafened its audience,
As any sound ceases to be heard
When it is present for long.

They heard it no more.
Naught but background noise...
But new audiences found it.

New audiences heard it,
New audiences wanted more,
New audiences heard it...

Why is it
That the constant sound
Should be the one never heard?