Stealing Mushrooms

An autumn day,
Moisture drips from leaves,
The birds are quiet.

Large, silent feet
Pad on the forest floor,
Soft on the emerald moss.

There is the prize,
Sprouting from an old tree,
Succulent and tempting.

Quickly gathered,
The treasure safely bagged,
He dreams of dinner.

Fried with onions;
Sweet, juicy, and tender.
The anticipation.

Quick and noiseless,
He moves through the damp woods,
Trying hard not to whistle.

- Orangeblossom Took