HongoS & Café

Upon the hills where strong winds blow,
El Trébol rests in Uruguay's glow.
The spring rain drums on tin roof sheets,
While emerald grass the morning greets. 

Three dogs patrol the windswept land,
Their paws leave prints in muddy sand.
The old ombu trees bend and sway,
As winter's grip gives in to May. 

Two couples, weathered, kind and wise,
Watch storm clouds part to azure skies.
They speak of hongos, row by row,
In containers where the oysters grow. 

The rain has softened hardened ground,
Where clover grows in circles round.
And spring arrives with gentle grace,
To paint new colors on this place. 

So here at Trébol, wind and rain,
Bring life to pastures once again.
Where dreams of mushrooms start to thrive,
In boxes kept controlled, alive.