Vast, barren realms where cacti stand guard, whispering winds sculpt dunes under a sun's relentless gaze. A mirage of emptiness teeming with hidden life.

Lines connect into the art Many eyes watch over craft We can safely pick apart This very tiny fragile draft

What kind of nut has no shell? There is a minimum character requirement

I speak in notes but have no tongue, My songs are played, not ever sung. Through wood or brass or tightened thread, I give each note its voice instead.

When I’m false, I’m a cruel and bitter trickery. When I’m blind, I’m youthful and perhaps naive. But everybody needs a bit of me in their lives. Something to supplement dreams, or to be a beacon in a sea of despair.