Gingerbread House

A row of cookies on a sheet
Each exactly like its brother
They look around
Turn a frown
They can't tell themselves from the others
To make it easier
One breaks off
The corner of its crust
They all agreed it was a good idea
And crumble themselves to dust

Giblee

little ant inside my lamp
moving round and round,
silhouette says, "I live here"
but you never make a sound.
is it hot where you live
so close to the sun?
you steal away into the shade,
yet, alas, the day is ne'er done.