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There was a blushed crimson glow at pale sunrise
Through a chill meadow mist in Lamas time.
When I came to spy faeries, stir from dreamers dreams
And awaken Augustus from his noble sleep.

Old is he and wise t'is said
When he relays his tales of mirth, and dread
Beckoning faeries from their moss down beds
To revel and dance, or just sit and gaze
Divining reality in that Elven way.

Augustus I have met, alas but once
Late one eve as a church bell tolled
By a whispering brook, near a shady glade
In a far off field, years away.

A smile we shared, and this, was enough
Are all mushrooms magic? I ask myself.