Ergot

A sickle bronze and jagged, fells the stalks to earth
On rye they hitch a ride, the fungus feeling mirth
A pauper eats a meal—it bitter from the querns
The serf begins to retch, the world around him burns
As werewolves tear and screech, a cyclops saves the pearls
His body swells and weeps, the saints in candle whorls
And into loam he sinks, an ashen maiden's birth
The Boatman's paid above, him now a snack to ferns
In motley hues and dark, besieged pneuma unfurls