Its alien orange gleamed across a mid-winter forest.

The only thing — save shamrock green moss girding the base of trees — that begged attention in that silent, decaying woods.

Its globule nature desiccated into angularity,

adding to its alien claim,

and it shone with every orange a flame can throw.

The guide said you were edible,

but, seeing your flaming colors,

I could never convince myself that you wouldn’t taste of orange jelly enough to not spit you out on the ground.

Besides, I won’t say you’ve seen better days,

but you’ve seen less alien days.