The Death Caps

The small black mushrooms are starting to sprout,
Along the borders of North and South Korea,
Small ones at first, formed of fire and iron,
Death caps in a dish, the doom of empires,
That fall as rain, pit, pucker and pock,
Then follows mighty red toadstools erupting,
Who arise of stems of steam, smoke and fire,
Each atomic amanita, brighter than the sun,
Flashing forth as lightning, fierce with a roar of war,
As the stench of death, awakens the sleeping dragon.