I don't understand the poem Departmental by Robert Frost. Do you?????

An ant on the tablecloth


Ran into a dormant moth


Of many times his size.


He showed not the least surprise.


His business wasn't with such.


He gave it scarcely a touch,


And was off on his duty run.


Yet if he encountered one


Of the hive's enquiry squad


Whose work is to find out God


And the nature of time and space,


He would put him onto the case.


Ants are a curious race;


One crossing with hurried tread


The body of one of their dead


Isn't given a moment's arrest-


Seems not even impressed.


But he no doubts report to any


With whom he crosses antennae,


And they no doubt report


To the higher up at court.


Then word goes forth in Formic:


"Death's come to Jerry McCormic,


Our selfless forager Jerry.


Will the special Janizary


Whose office it is to bury


The dead of the commissary


Go bring him home to his people.


Lay him in state on a sepal.


Wrap him for shroud in a petal.


Embalm him with ichor of nettle.


This is the word of your Queen."

I don't understand the poem Departmental by Robert Frost. Do you?????
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