Photo by Englepip©
You would think there were giant skulls
Awkwardly rising from the grassy edges of the field,
Combatants of Saxon times,
Reawakened by the late summer sun,
Reviving to drink afresh the air
Of evening on the chalk Downland and
To march again along the dusty ancient droves
To battle.
But if they are skulls, they are marred,
By scars cut deep into flesh and bone
Sores of ancient battle
As warrior hacked warrior to the death.
But reality is equal to imagination
Both Exceptional
And the Giant Puffballs are a marvel of nature
Huge and resounding to the thrumming
Of your hand, like ancient drums
Yet also so delicious and nutritious that
Even the snails have eaten through the flesh
and the deer nibbled to the innards
Of this exceptional, gigantic, gastronomic delight.
Englepip's World 