Don’t clear my tablesUntil the moonless night descendsThe ants will come.They break through wallsBricks, stones; tunnels in the buildingThey come and work a bit at my placeThen they go upstairs.Head to head, shoulder to shoulderIn a line, the poor thingsThey leave, and I follow behindOn the “Egnatia” road!
On the “Egnatia” road




