Shroom

My foraging is over;
His spores have filled my heart .
And now I can't imagine
How we survived apart.
We grow on one another.
'Tis groovier each day—

To think that, in his brownish cap,
He makes me feel this way.
I've searched through marsh and forest
To find my future groom.
No Portobello is half the fellow
Of my dear Mr. Shroom.