By Abi Roberts
Where would the great fungi civilization be, If with eyes, they saw as we? Comparing each and every stalk, As if the differences were surely flaws. Would they know why each species is so great, Unique so that it can thrive, In caves down deep and mountains high?
How far could the fungus come,
If only it did have a tongue,
Would they speak highly of their skill,
Contributing to the forests’ health.
How dare one think they are meant,
Only to be poached -
With delicious butter eaten on savory toast!
What would the fungi do, If they had ears, Rejoicing to hear every song, Praising them for beauty, (And much to their dismay), A tasty end to the days foray, Or would instead they wilt and die, Beneath criticisms deep and withering lies?
Sometimes I think, That they must wonder, At the Ranger walking idly by, Stopping and staring, (Much to Ms. Posts’ dismay), How odd a sight that I must be, Marveling at the world around, When so few stop to appreciate, The wonders on the ground.
