As the maize and barley ripened under the warm sun, the grasshoppers played a light-hearted jig. Life was good. They ate when they felt like it; they danced and fell in love. But then the harvest came, the crops were cut, the stubble withered, the days grew shorter. The grasshoppers were cold and hungry and their songs took a mournful turn.

“Can’t you play something more lively?” the ants complained. “This is a happy time.” The ants had spent the summer relentlessly collecting grain and were now busy feeding, loading up for the winter. “We play as we feel,” the grasshoppers explained. “And right now we feel the cold hand of death grip our empty bellies.” “You should have thought of that before,” the ants replied between mouthfuls. “Why would we think of such things? Life is short.” “For you, it may be, but for us it goes on. We’re just going to rest a while before we go again in spring.” “But what will you do in spring?” the grasshoppers asked. “The same as before.”

The grasshoppers felt sorry for the ants. Their work was never done. And yet they seemed quite content. So the grasshoppers changed their tune and sang the ants a lullaby before bidding them farewell.

“Eat up, eat up, eat your fill
The nights are drawing in.
We’re just going to rest a while
Before we go again in spring.”

“Our work is never done, you see
Our work is never done.
And as the barley ripens,
We’ll toil beneath the sun.”

© Richard Parkin, 2025

Further reading: Misadventures in the Land of Fables #61