Distant from the Dazzle

Wings bird north when rustles cold the leaves,
But how I wish I was a fungus, feeding from the fallen.
Greats dared beneath the canopy and when preyed on by the Truth,
Their souls spilled onto the forest floor; there I would be centuries later;
But no, my mind is high up,
Though even so I could be a buzzard or an eagle.
Greats cooked in the sandy plains and when burnt by the Truth,
Their souls spilled onto the desert floor; there I would be centuries later;
But no, I could not bear the heat of day,
Though maybe I could owl the night.
Greats shivered in the Tundra and when froze by the Truth,
Their souls curled in snowy blankets; there I would be centuries later;
But no, I am only a Zebra distant from the dazzle,
Grazing herding standing silly striped,
And when chased in the Safari and slowed by the Truth,
My soul dug into by tiger teeth; will I feed Greats centuries later?