Alien

Perched above, way up high,
down below watch the ants go by.
Insects in a world they form,
a society and its norms.
High above, left alone,
can't come down, can't be a clone.
Steel wings could not have flown
down to the ground, to the world of ants,
a society's intricate dance.
High above, cannot move
to the sound of the insect groove.
Their melody is unclear.
Do I dance or do I steer?
Undecided I remain,
high above the insect plain.