I hold a song but have no voice, A prison born from someone’s choice. Though built with care and often bright, I turn free flight to captive sight.

Golden treasure in a liquid form, Born where buzzing swarms perform. I cling to spoons and sweeten your tea, A hive-born treat from flower to me.

Draped in crimson, I gleam in the dark, A treasure for kings, a collector’s mark. Born from the earth in a hidden abyss, What am I, prized for my passionate kiss?

Disturb not the harmony of fire, Ice nor lightning. It may be a lizard, a mouse or keys, but one thing's clear gotta catch all of these

A place am I where many roam, or some may even call me home. This way is done to herbs and more, preparing both to bake and store. When dropped, things are upon me found, for I am known thus as the: