I wear a crown of tiny beads, all dressed in ruby red, I’m sweet with just a hint of tart in every bite you’ve had. Blow me not I’m not a sound your lips would make in jest, But place me on a cake or tart, and I will be the best.

I have no voice, yet I can say enter I have no hands, yet I can open for you. I stand between two worlds, inside and out What am I?

In skies where gods bellow and clash, a mighty roar rends the air. The earth trembles at its call, warriors pause, caught unaware.

Oh my stars, this little contraption from the old country gives bread a warm hug until it wears a golden crown. A cozy morning ritual, where crunch meets comfort in a jiffy.

I bear this name, Not heated through, The feeling of facing a new wound. Plain, and without protection, The unfiltered truth.