Overnight, very <br />Whitely, discreetly, <br />Very quietly <br /> <br />Our toes, our noses <br />Take hold on the loam, <br />Acquire the air. <br /> <br />Nobody sees us, <br />Stops us, betrays us; <br />The small grains make room. <br /> <br />Soft fists insist on <br />Heaving the needles, <br />The leafy bedding, <br /> <br />Even the paving. <br />Our hammers, our rams, <br />Earless and eyeless, <br /> <br />Perfectly voiceless, <br />Widen the crannies, <br />Shoulder through holes. We <br /> <br />Diet on water, <br />On crumbs of shadow, <br />Bland-mannered, asking <br /> <br />Little or nothing. <br />So many of us! <br />So many of us! <br /> <br />We are shelves, we are <br />Tables, we are meek, <br />We are edible, <br /> <br />Nudgers and shovers <br />In spite of ourselves. <br />Our kind multiplies: <br /> <br />We shall by morning <br />Inherit the earth. <br />Our foot's in the door.<br /><br />Sylvia Plath<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mushrooms/
