Preposterous
Hours and hours we walked through Birch Grove Park,
Examining all of natures things, to which we would remark.
But what couldn't be, which we did see was a single purple mushroom,
Where are the rest, these are the best, but only a solitary bloom?
We poked it with a stick, to examine it's pride,
Though half-hazardly knocked it on it's side.
Now the park is mushroomless,
Oh what a preposterous mess!
25-September-2021
Copyright © Robert James Liguori | Year Posted 2021
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