Do I not know
that around sweetest pure honey
the ants and creepy bugs will swarm
can great be great without mediocre and mundane
dull flattened unrisen dough craves yeast to take the rise
bubbling and fermenting into a bitter sour disturbed culture
always destined ingloriously to the bins or the bargain baskets
the succulent sweetened butter rich well baked cakes graces laid tables  
fragrantly aromatic they tease and inflame the nostrils of ants and pesky bugs
they who can only trail and scuttle in fevered dance clashing antennas
in small wars
look how ants swarm round honey only to jump in and loose themselves
the small minds court excesses for small craves greatness but has not the form