Stalker loves coming across poems about mushrooms in the literary canon, and this year we started with a Poem by Emily Dickinson. And now another gem from a giant of poetical universe Sylvia Plath has unearthed itself.
The Poem entitled mushrooms has a spooky kind of feel: Earless and eyeless, Perfectly voiceless: the poet manages to give voice to the mushrooms though. And eerily the poet also presages the rise of the Ecovative mycelium production with the lines: We are shelves, we are Tables....
It's amazing how the poetic mind envisages things many decades in advance. And the poem itself is very entrancing, just like the subject matter!
