Oh, how you will know this world of potent pleasures :
A burning world, coated in the laughter of satisfied need.
Concealed behind that bush, is the birthplace of a future victor.
The mundane grey of wintertime will sink into a sweet, purifying spring
Before the sadness of each fall, and every bumbling summer, a lively spring must pass.

...Into the poppy field, you and I collapse together.
Green and deepest red, we will make this field our bed.