W is my shape, though M may be what you see, banished to space for all eternity. angering the sea nympths, the beauty of my daughter Andromeda and I made us flee. long enough on the run, I could not beat the beauty's toll, my vanity my ultimate toll.

What's in my pocket? I'll give you a hint: The head of a fork, an unwrapped mint A lexical invention, Fortuna's balm And grease for the crease of Charon's palm

I bind the guilty to the scene they flee, Vampires crave me under moonlit skies. Doctors spill me to save what I sustain, Yet dried and old I whisper ancient lies.

found underground, and put in fire to be molded, my shine will last throughout time. people wear me, on special occasion they share me, while some will just take me by force. my name is my color, it is no white or rose, but those are others I know.

I hail from ancient times. My first three letters allows life on our planet. My last four letter are numbers you use on a line. My whole is a shadow of time, informing you.