Cigarette dropping, Razed remain, Nest of a phoenix, Samara buried became.

A river flows from a sea of minds, Its banks awash with gems to find, Greedily, we come to drink, To take a break, and stop and think...

I wake with the dawn and turn my face to gold, A loyal watcher of the sky, faithful and bold. My crown is a hundred small promises, tight and spun, Each waiting its turn beneath the sun. By field and fence I stand tall and fair, Following light as if love lived there.

I linger where the forest grew, But dream a little of the blue. Too fresh for sky, too deep for sea, I’m caught between what’s you and me. Think of a colour, not quite green or blue, A shaded hint of something new. In peacock’s pride and ocean’s gleam, Tell me the colour that lives between.

I can be magic I can be poisonous or you can eat me risk-free. I can be foraged I can be bought or you can buy a home kit and grow me.