In a woodland grove where moonlight weaves,
Lies an enchanted colony, hidden 'mongst leaves.
Chubby cherubs, bodies like dull snow,
Dull blue caps atop, a charming tableau.
Revealed only to souls pure and true,
Or to those at death's door, their spirits anew.
If an offering is bestowed in humble plea,
Consume with reverence, embrace life's decree.
Squeaks fill the air, their secret tongue,
Mimicking the world where melodies are sung.
Their emotions pure, always laid bare,
A language simple, easy to share.
The Inky Cap creates a black gel's might,
To seed new life, in eternal flight.
Mycelium's humble, yet their dedication's clear,
Guiding the family with wisdom sincere.
As ink conveys thoughts, a bridge to the heart,
The Inky Cap's gel memory's echo impart.
Beware, dear mortals, this magic profound,
The Colony's intentions will astound.
Seek ink's approval, honour its sacred call,
Or face their wrath, their haunting enthrall.
Seek amends, appease their scorn,
Or on next full moon's morn, fate's forlorn.
Death's light claims the unworthy soul,
By the haunted ink, destiny takes its toll.
Heed the tale, ye seekers of might,
Respect the magic, let purity ignite.
And when you chance upon their woodland lair,
Tread gently, for their enchantments are rare.