Poem dump

Mushrooms

A scattering of tinted dusk,

Littering the muddy ground,

Silken fibres, a brittle husk,

In the woods, they can be found.

Breaths of summer carry spores,

Which float on clouds, up to the sky,

Or slowly drift towards the floor,

Where they take root, and multiply.

Underneath the thistle low,

Amongst the primrose, and the rue,

In the dandelions they grow,

A xanthe shade, a dusty hue.

Clinging to the floor and ceiling,

Underneath the pine trees root,

In dark places, they are feeding,

Warmth and wet, and dark, they loot.

And in the woods, they live in peace,

Their undersides an eiderdown,

On muddy ground, their spores release,

Shreds of sunset, on the ground.