Filled With Fungi
So many mushrooms have sprung up
I’ve never seen before.
My yard is filled with fungi
In varieties galore.
The bright red flat ones you can’t miss,
The tall ones, creamy white;
The brownish kind with puffy tops,
The beige of little height.
Some tiny yellows try to hide
Near coppers like a penny.
In prior years with not much rain,
I don’t remember any.
I wonder if they’re poisonous.
If so, I’ll never know it,
For only store-bought fungi
Will be eaten by this poet.
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