A Million Mushrooms

A million mushrooms fill the field

Where marchers' bodies lately fell

For marchers, marching heavy-heeled

Release more spores, that march as well

Across the twilit charnel ground

And over long-bewildered farms

Through palaces, where not a sound is heard

Though there should be alarms

But winter comes and only ice

Is crushed beneath the marching feet

In all the land, where once was rice

There now is nothing fit to eat

except mushrooms, which nourish not

the body, nourish not the mind

And often poison

eating rot, the marchers march

insane and blind