I’m having an identity crisis:
Am I fungi or algae or both?
When combined, they seem to slow my growth.
All I want to do is spread on something—
A rock, a tree, anything stationary.
That is where I find my safe sanctuary.
I’m slow, ooooh soooo sloooow.
I’m sloth-like and bi-polar.
I’m surely no high roller.
I survive extremes of heat and cold.
Some observe we spread like blobs,
These “plant elites” are merely snobs.
They can’t pigeonhole us,
They complain our pedigree is missing.
They caught my algae and fungi kissing!
Let’ face it, I’m an outsider,
And hard to categorize.
But will not apologize.
I am what I am even if I’m two,
Forget my gender—my species’ in doubt,
At least I’ll survive the most severe drought.
I’m proud to be clinging in the open air.
We won’t be accused of being vivacious,
You’ll have to admit that we are tenacious.
Despite that we’re ancient, we’re so overlooked.
We used to taking ridicule,
Waiting in Nature’s vestibule.
We’re lichens and we’re proud,
We are familiar with all the abuse,
No wonder they think we’re a bit recluse.
We eschew social acceptance—we simply don’t care.
We are the original rainbow coalition.
The plethora of colors is our ammunition.
We’re iconoclasts in every way.
We’re purple, yellow, orange, but not to confuse,
We offer blue, gold, violet and even chartreuse.
We’re independent and have strategically planned:
Regardless of weather, it’s our big grand tour,
Despite Nature’s missteps, we plan to endure.