Creation’s self-appointed king,
Wiped out the anthill with its heel.
O self-made boss of things thet creep
An’ walk an’ fly, an’ yet are mute,
When I consider how you keep
Your kingdom of the bird an’ brute,
When I consider how you speak
Your will among the smaller folk
An’ send your message to the weak
In flyin’ lead an’ flamin’ smoke,