I heard him stalking through the brush,

But Mama told me, “Always hush,”

He muttered, “Come on out, you dopes,”

So, he had found me, dashed my hopes.

“There you are!” The voice of doom.

But his gaze had found the shroom.

Oyster mushrooms on a tree,

Maybe now he won’t kill me.

Busy picking, he ignored me,

But at last he looked toward me.

In his pocket was a gadget,

I was glad it was no hatchet.

Staring at me, still and lone,

Whispered “Smile” and clicked the phone.

He seemed harmless, clicked again,

Cameras don’t cause me pain.

 

I suppose I should have smiled,

But as critters go, I’m wild,

I’m not one for vanity,

That would be insanity.

 

***** All photos, courtesy of my friend Pat.