Ant Mac Poet Rhyme

Hunting for Mushrooms

The morning was dark and misty
venturing out before the throng
weaving between oak and elder
the path I took was long

I stumbled on a clearing
and fell down upon my knees
it was there I started digging
through discarded wood and leaves

burrowing through the top soil
breaking deeper in the dirt
my fingers and palms wore earth stains
nails had worked to earn their worth

sensing something beneath the surface
of what was left behind
reaching in with all purpose
the hand I found was mine.

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