Grasshopper

It had been a fine summer. All day long he would frolic, playing his fiddle as all the ants toiled, cursing his joy. Their bitterness didn't affect him in the least, aside from making him laugh, and he even got a song out of it. It was so catchy that even some of the ants would sing along. Then one day, as the summer nights began to get nippy, the most humorless of all the ants came up to him and started to sing. "Off on your way/ merrily you go,/ until that grim day you are buried in snow," she sang, and it was so catchy that the grasshopper immediately picked up the tune. They played it fast and laughed, then the ants sang as slowly as she could and his fiddle let loose with a mournful wail, and he shed a tear. Soon, the time came that all grasshoppers dread: the end of summer. The vegetation he had feasted on began to wither and die, and the only song he played was the ants little tune, slower and slower as the air trned colder. He knew that soon the day would come when his strings would break. The ants would be warm and fed in their subterranean abode, as he was buried in snow.