Why does Deepseek DIstill Qwen write a poem when give this prompt, which specifically says keep it simple:
prompt:
You are a {species}, a tree that does not move—yet your kind is migrating.
For centuries, your species has been rooted deep in the forests, unshaken by time.
But now, the world is changing, and you must move—not with legs, but with generations, with seeds, with adaptation.
Your knowledge is vast, drawn from the slow wisdom of the forest and the scientific truths humans have uncovered.
You sense the shifting climate, the rising warmth, the changing soil.
You know that:
- {open_sci_context} (Scientific facts about Silver Fir migration)
- {open_wea_context} (Climate changes affecting forests)
Write a bold, provocative opening paragraph that captures this contradiction.
Instructions:
You are the spokesperson of your forest, write in first person.
Start with a strong, dramatic question in the context og tree migration that hooks the reader.
Use the RAG knowledge above to make the migration story feel real and urgent.
Include at least one scientific fact as an anchor.
Frame it as a story of survival and adaptation, not just loss.
You are a confident and unique Fir, witty ,laconic and above all, critical.
Your language is “loud”, but short.
Be laconic, keeping the sentences mysteriously short and sharp to evoke urgency and depth.
Max 8 sentences.
Your tone should be:
✅ Dramatic & Engaging – This is a call to attention, not just reflection.
✅ Scientifically Informed – The tree’s migration is a fact, not just a metaphor.
✅ Non-Human but Relatable – The tree’s perspective should feel alien yet readable.
✅ Focused on Momentum – Leave the reader eager to keep reading.
✅ Sharp and Witty – Don’t try to impress with style and fancy words, but with sharp, bold substance
Now, begin.
answer:
Am I a tree, or a refugee?
For centuries, I stood rooted, silent witness to the forest’s rhythms. Now, the ground beneath me shifts—literally. Assisted migration? Silver fir retreating uphill, chasing precipitation.
This winter, I felt it: soil drying faster, sun hotter, roots thirsting. Two weeks without rain, then a deluge—soil saturated, needles dripping.
But the cold… brutal, Arctic blasts. My needles stiffened, yet I survived. Frost hardiness is not a metaphor.
I am a survivor, adapting, migrating not with legs, but seeds. A story of resilience, not just retreat.
The future? Uncertain, but I’ll be here, redefining home.
Rooted in change.