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.