In the heart of the forest, small and unseen, with a delicate cap, a fleeting, fragile grace,
A little mushroom dwells, in shades of quiet green, in the shadow of giants, it finds its place.
The trees, they stretch to the heavens high, But time, it whispers a truth unknown,
Unfathomable to a form so shy, Even giants bow, their power overthrown.
Compared to the colossus of towering trees, time to this mushroom is both swift and sly,
It’s but a moment’s whisper on the forest’s breeze, Yet in its world, at its level, it touches the sky. A giant it becomes, in its own tiny realm, The trees tumble and fall, at the mushroom’s feet, Even the mightiest time overwhelms, by this small, finite thing, the great meet defeat.
These thoughts it ponders, as it stands so still, the wisdom of the ages, in this humble abode,
In the depths of the forest, where silence does instill, Where the cycle of life is bestowed.
Beneath its broad cap, a refuge one may find, In this small world, a universe in its own right,
A mosquito blown about by the weather unkind, the mushroom gives it comfort from plight.
The little mushroom ponders, in quiet grace, As this mosquito seeks shelter, a refuge rare,
The insect grateful for nature’s embrace, beneath the mushroom’s cap, wide and fair.
“In my small world,” the mushroom sighs, “In its subtle existence, a truth is unveiled,
“I am the giant as time goes by, In the cycle of life, all roles are detailed. For the towering trees, they too shall fall, A reminder that stature matters not at all, And to my earth, their majesties shall call. In nature’s cyclical dance, we stand and fall.” So let the little mushroom’s wisdom guide, For even the mighty, in their final demise In the vast forest, no one can hide, their final purpose is for the mushroom to fertilize.