Mushroom Picking

 

It was not even light when we did alight

on my Uncle´s old motorbike

I perched myself on the pillion seat

having had absolutely nothing to eat

I carried two buckets in both hands

and off we raced across the land

At the farm it was nearly dawn

the cowsheds, in rows, looked sadly forlorn

The farmer pointed to an unlocked gate

through which we walked for hunger´s sake

The field was enveloped in a swirling mist

perhaps this is where lovers had their tryst

The earth beneath our feet was broken

as we searched for our first white token

As we wandered in the gloom

we came across our first mushroom

Overjoyed at such a find

this was an experience of a different kind

We walked across field to field

and so increased our morning yield

With buckets full we thanked the farmer

who told my uncle that I was a real charmer

My uncle kicked the pedal and the bike did roar

and into the morning air we did soar

Back in a warm kitchen my aunt awaited

as we were eager to be sated

A frying pan with melted butter

on the black range did readily stutter

A feast of mushrooms was our early delight

as night gave way to new morning light