A million mushrooms fill the field   Where marchers' bodies lately fell   For marchers, marching heavy-heeled   Release more spores, that march as well      Across the twilit charnel ground   And over long-bewildered farms   Through palaces, where not a sound is heard   Though there should be alarms      But winter comes and only ice   Is crushed beneath the marching feet   In all the land, where once was rice   There now is nothing fit to eat      except mushrooms, which nourish not   the body, nourish not the mind   And often poison   eating rot, the marchers march   insane and blind