March Past

Myself so fond of delicacies Whenever I keep them Safely In my home Though so much protection I provide Still unfazed Smelling their presence You poke Here and there Peeking out From your colony I wonder Only one At the beginning Treading so slowly Inch by inch Tiny dots From such a distance Very soon Many such followed A march past Intervals unaffected Quite briskly too Gaining momentum Too busy No time to stand and stare Carrying my delicacy Almost much greater than Your weight Just when I started To consume Almost ten percent gone Already little into an hour Gracious ants Making me eager To trace your identity Where is your home? Where are your granaries?