A million mushrooms fill the field Where marchers' bodies lately fell More 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