Beneath the ancient, towering trees,
Where sunlight filters through the leaves,
The mushrooms sprout in silent ease,
A world unknown that nature weaves.

With caps of brown and stems so fair,
They dance in shadows, unaware,
Of secrets whispered through the air,
In damp and dark, they find their lair.

The forest floor, their humble stage,
Where stories old, they do engage,
A fleeting life, a briefest age,
Yet wisdom deep, they do encage.

In quiet nights, with moonlight’s grace,
They stand as sentinels in place,
The mushrooms’ dance, a gentle trace,
Of nature’s timeless, hidden face.