The Mushroom People of Edam

In the country of Edam, beneath the forest trees,

Lives a small village of mushroom people, about as tall as your knees.

And in the month of November, they gather several leaves

To make a cozy home to hideaway from scary foraging thieves.

The mothers tuck their kids away,

So they can hibernate instead of play.

The dads make piles large and tall

To hide even the smallest small.

But mischievous smiles and mischievous feet,

Sometimes wander in search of wheat.

And when the great harvest draws near,

Sweet mushroom people freeze in fear.

And the unlucky few who had left their beds,

Are plucked ripe for their tasty heads.

So moms of mushroom children warn

With fairy tales of ears of corn

And greedy hands that clutch at bags

To pluck the mushroom folk with rags

And save them for the harvest feast,

Which mushroom children like the least.