Is It Poetry - Mushroom

Growing overnight, springing up, very white.
Prudence between sleeps each one of our toes.
Do it to become us and fixed are the tops.
Do to the air blow it gently with your nose.
No one need meet us to greet us, look stop.

This is the place it can be, is less crowded, small rings.
The soft fist it raises, the needle you hide, I insist.
And the pavement it ends where the leaf is to pretty.
Our hammers, the rams, fearless and eyeless,
silence and round the opening one does to expand it completely.
Crossing the field and passing the hole, her shoulder.

In waters lays our diet, the ants carry off the bread crumbs.
The bush casts a shadow, gentled quite is uniqueness.
Vast thine majority which is of it asked.
Our numbers, tall large members!
Our's so large and vast strewn across fields are our numbers.
We are gentle, we are for food, even in love we feel your need.
Our types are white the caps like the snow it increases.
We receive the new morning a blanket of earth is our door.

Is It Poetry

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