I have many layers, but I do not have sentience. I am known for my sharp flavour.

I can heal, I can peel, I breathe and I can rot and pucker. I can be marked, I can be cut, I can be stitched. I envelope so much.

My child and mate are the subject of a very odd debate. Heed my call, it's known to all, a call to labor, less to arms.

I work for bees, I work for you. So many forms: I held your light, imprinted symphonies. Now in Brazil, I keep you smooth, your companionship warm.

I am small but mighty, harboring life within, waiting for the right moment to sprout and begin. Birds and animals eat me alive, but I am no one's pray. Instead, I give them shelter, one day.