When young it was unclear the meaning of life?
Then the mushroom fruited,
The autumn was born,
Introspection became fungus,
Thoughts blue from bruising,
Desire crimson Reishi,
And energy of bounding yak dance,
The gold of a leprechaun,
Accents of Italian and French,
German or Asian,
The forest and hepa filter talk to me,
The culture is real,
And evolving,
Even if you can’t see the spores,
All pointing to the myco joy,
Do I look like the mushroom man to you?