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.