I am a mushroom in the woods
My home a rotten log
Damp collecting in my hood
Abide in quiet fog.

Flustered mice scurry by
Their tales chase close behind.
Weathered trees grow old and die,
I do not think to mind.

I am dying, I am death,
I eat those come before.
Mushrooms have no need for breath,
I love my forest floor.