Fungal Glory: a poem by Jayne Bryson

Thick creamy petals;

A soft, velvet nap to each;

Frilled edges overlap.

A garland

To the lost majesty of its host;

A giant, as before,

Yet barren, now,

Lightning-struck, perhaps.

Such abundance

For no purpose,

It seems.

Only to draw the gaze;

To call, softly, as we pass –

Look –

At What lives on

After the end.

See –

What beauty exists –

Just because –

It can.