A Million Mushrooms

A million mushrooms fill the field

Where marchers' bodies lately fell

For marchers marching, heavy heeled

Release more spores to march as well.

Across the twilit shadow ground

And over long bewildered farms

Through palaces, where not a sound

Is heard though there should be alarms.

But winter comes and only ice

Is crushed beneath the marching feet

In all the land where once was right(? possibly rice)

There now is nothing fit to eat...

(dramatic pause)

Except mushrooms! which nourish not,

The body, nourish not the mind

And often poison. Eating rot

The marchers march insane and blind.