The Aging of Mushrooms & Men
Mushrooms in
decay A special kind of beauty Aging is more than okay It’s kind of creative duty.
Their colors are muted but deep
A testament to
age Their story is something to keep Something of value – a sage.
Rubbery and
brown Bites out of them some Wear red – why wear a frown
Where their substance comes from.
Something about their state of decay
Their obvious imperfection Their richness, I beg to stay
Their essence and insurrection.
Aging milkweed no longer attracts
Butterflies are drawn to the young
Fruitfulness is happy to relax
Content to remain unsung.
A celebration of life No need for a funeral Their legacy sharp as a knife
In words, verse, even numeral.
Sleeping butterfly ended too soon “Miles to go before I sleep” Life protracted maybe ’til noon
Frost said when thinking thick and deep.
Some mildewed green from too much rain
Others I passed, camouflaged were they
Still more baked brown from sun that then came
Why I delight in them I cannot say.
Mangled by the very nature that gave them birth
It takes a village she said With light dancing about them with mirth
Some choose hiding instead.
Like Alice in wonderland Under the mushroom cap
Life cannot be bland When you live in such rich sap.
