The Mushroom Pickers of Mount Royal – Memories Through the Eyes of my City

Off the paths of Mont-Royal parc,

Where the trees stand tall and stark,

Lies a secret hidden deep,

Of mushroom pickers who doth reap.

They come at night with stealthy tread,

To seek the bounty that lies ahead,

For mushrooms rare and wondrous grow,

In the shadows, hiding low.

With baskets in their hands they roam,

Through the forest, far from home,

Whispering secrets to the breeze,

As they pluck each treasure with such ease.

Their faces are lit by moon’s soft glow,

As they gather mushrooms in a row,

Silent as the night itself,

In their quest for nature’s wealth.

Fear, the beauty of their task,

The secret mushroom pickers’ mask,

Their mystery is a work of art,

In the depths of Mont-Royal’s heart.

So if you hear a rustling sound,

When night has cast its darkened shroud,

Remember, it’s the secret few,

Who seek the magic mushrooms anew.