In the woods outside my home town
Mushrooms grow in clusters shaped as dead vikings.

The soil rich; thick -dense- with history.
Lean your face on the ground. Feel the warmth

Of blade-based battles on forest grounds now buried
Under centuries of rot, moss and everyday oblivion.

Rust-warped swords pulled from deflated tractor tires
By angry farmers' hands so far from unlikely

Related to those who -fifty or more generations ago-
Forged the ancient nuisance.