There once laid jubilant flowers in my garden,
They laid content in their green escapades.
There once were blissful birds,
Humming the tunes of natures call.
There once were merry breezes,
Who sung the song of leaves contempt.
The delighted outside world seemed one worth living for,
Not a disturbed crimson mushroom could toil my day.
There was a time when the mushroom seemed to corrode the surroundings.
It called for attention, begged for affection.
Sometimes the brightest things are not all they seem.