Snowy mushrooms

Winter Poems

Mushrooms don't grow
in eight inches of snow.

I'll just add caffeine
to annoyance and woe
and make myself extra delightful to know.

My roof's not all tile
and won't be for a while.
Got mushrooms and tile in a pile in the snow.

It's real pretty, though :-/

-- Cikira


Whose tiles these are I think I know.
They should be on her rooftop, though,
Instead of tripping passers-by
To sprawl full-length in eight-inch snow.

A pleasant walk to see (said I)
The mushrooms raised against the sky.
Tiles tripped me like a risen root:
Face down in eight-inch snow I lie.

A little kid might think it cute
To see what grips me by the boot.
No Swiss Patrol, nor Saint Bernard,
I'm rescued by a... malamute?

The owner, she may find it hard
To little mock the frozen bard
Who couldn't cross her snowy yard
Who couldn't cross her snowy yard.

-- Anonymous Geek
(With apologies to Robert Frost and his heirs.)

Email: Cikira [at] Cikira [dot] Com