They forage food
in forest climes,
seeking sustenance
in the early springtime.
And no mistakes
yet from this crew.
They gather fare in this primeval place…
then a boo-boo!

(And their feed just goes on and on and on and on.)

Feasting on champ’gnons, good friends,
and they keep on biting without end.

Never were losers
till feasting on champ’gnons, edges curled.

What’s happening now—
some starting to fall.
It’s a tasting misfortune; some are starting to vomit…
cast is a pall.
But well beyond the throwing up:
much worse news,
because this alimentation with deadly toxins is laced,
and their fate ain’t to snooze.

Feasting on champignons, good friends,
and they kept on biting without end.

Now they are losers
from feasting on champ’gnons, edges curled.

Feasting on champ’gnons, dead friends.
And they kept on biting…met their end:
deceased from champ’gnons.
This forest food scourge
made deceased ’shroom chompers…
not ’nuff hurled.