Beneath the forest’s living floor,

Where roots entwine and insects bore,

A gentle process begins to swell,

The breaking down of bone and cell.

 

Filaments like gossamer thread,

Releasing life from what is dead,

They weave through rot through leaf and flesh,

In natures graveyard that must refresh.

 

The oak that falls becomes the seed,

Of moss and fern and slender reed,

To break apart let life restart,

The work they do is a natural art.

 

So, when you walk through a forest Green,

Think of fungi that are unseen,

And know that recycling of death beneath,

Are giving life that they bequeath.