Where Mushroom Shepherds Dwell

In the rain forest cedar groves,
Where man goes, there also grows,
In his gathered villages,
A cacophony of roofs
Parallel to the shaggy hills,
Cedar shaked and peaked,
Cascading in multiples
Of slashes and brows
Like the forest  thick rich
In green moss sponges
That shed rain when they
Are finished feeding themselves
And all the varied leaf-mold life
They support.

Under them mythic mushroom shepherds
Dimly dwell, bright eyes
Under broad wooden brims,
Feed and worship and trade
With other races in hooded gear
And rubber boots
Who may be passing through.

Fingers wrap themselves for warmth
Round steaming burly mugs,
The conversations overheard
 like windy rain drops
Gutter running lively,
Far-ranging as condensation.

But gulls landed with no news off-island
of any consequence,
Nor even weather mattered much
As long as the ferries
ran on time.