Stalks wrapped in lights rose up into the night.
The Fungal Forest spread from the river
sheltered ‘neath the Enchanted Forest. Bright
as sunset, never plain, a world inside
that domain, where the wee folk fly about.
Naked except for wings, they sit beside
glowing ‘shrooms and keep the sacred worm stout.
The worm then spins silken threads the wee folk
trade with the Tall Ones for red dyes to make
colorful draperies for the Mount Folk.
In the ceremony, the ‘shrooms they take,
to find clarity. Instead their mind’s dazed.
They wanted what the wee folk had in spades.
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