A million mushrooms fill the field
Where marchers' bodies lately fell
For marchers, marching heavy-heeled
Release more spores, that march as well
Across the twilit charnel ground
And over long-bewildered farms
Through palaces, where not a sound is heard
Though there should be alarms
But winter comes and only ice
Is crushed beneath the marching feet
In all the land, where once was rice
There now is nothing fit to eat
except mushrooms, which nourish not
the body, nourish not the mind
And often poison
eating rot, the marchers march
insane and blind