I saw him for the first time, at First Sunday after Easter, he was a little garcon, soon tasked with tucking my ropes, he was deaf and all alone, and through him, I called people into my home.

I look like I could be a gerund for a verb of ability, but I am not. Before the refrigerator, I helped keep your food from rot.

I am but a hat, worn on the head. My name comes from the city where the dye I use is red. I have no brim, as that would interfere with the religious requirements to which my wearers typically adhere.

Beneath the earth I grow, a humble brown knight. Though my visage is plain, I transform into golden delights or a comforting mash. From famine's grip, I once saved a nation.

Jack says I'm his, though coat of arms denies. A herculean column reaching towards the skies. The apex in legends, opposing Ceuta. Beware, seamen, 'Non terrae plus ultra.'