'Lichen' Me Or Not Poem by Claire Sanders

Textured like diamonds, emeralds and onyx embedded into rugged slate,

Alive, steadily but invisibly growing at immeasurable rate,

Appearing so un-earthly, fossil-like, to some ere dead,

In rough, smooth, creative, bubbling florets and breathing cells,

Fungal, sporacious creeping in a way so totally inanimate,

I draw you forth for studious glance, so as to fascinate,

Colours borne of other worlds both real and imaginary,

Crispy curls, voracious apetite to astound, frills unfurl,

So fragile this gentle lifeform, so perfectly delicate,

From a pool of macro mushroom heads, or mountain range endeavour,

No way to replicate, no scent nor sound, a form simply 'weathered',

Tis I all around you, yet ere you are blind, I'm rarely noticed indeed,

Most secret of natural gardens, grows 'pon graves, rocks and trees,

Many other places I will grow a harvest, to adorn stone deserts where;

No other creature or foilage could place a root and grow,

I survive a barren landscape and sculpt it as my own,

Nature's own genius of 'genus' unlike a fungi or a mold,

For in years you measure I am young, but in design, I'm very old.