And life may be cruel,
her dark branches twisted and gnarled and hard,
her roots turning the earth over in its slumber, cold veins in viridescent sea,
her tree fruitless and barren,
brittle bark that flakes from her obsidian centre,

but underneath her coal shell,
there is nectar and sap and gold,
and it will satiate your hunger,
if you can stay long enough to taste it.