Fungi (Frosty Bonnet) Poem by james watkin
Fungi (Frosty Bonnet)
Know O nigh-stomped woodland thing
Midst what moisty crumbles
Silk capped, if no hill-bloomed light
This power you convey?
Beyond one's understanding
As far does charm away!
Stumbling each felled mossed log o'er
Out-peeked, for these your kin
A netherworld, passed through of
Your elfin admirers
And at one with each and all
Have felt then. Self-doubters!
Monday, February 27, 2023
Topic(s) of this poem: woods
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8/21/2025 8:50:43 PM # 1.0.0
