A mountain or a leaf, a Queen or a pomegranate? Which would make you happy, Would any make you sad? Were you asking for an unmarked scroll? Did I give you a beaten, war torn book? Did blood flow in streams from your warrior’s eyes, The one you mistook for a caterpillar? And so I asked you What is it you want me to be? An icicle or an ember, a painting or a brush? It is a monochrome field of poppies… That in a different life would’ve been red.