An idiom says, I'm hard to see, When one's too focused, On parts of me

top a king or queens head the top of a plant a bigger fancier tiara

Upon my skin are stories of old, My insides are all damp and cold, From the dawn of man's first fire, Shelter within has always transpired What am I?

I stand tall but have no legs, hold a flower, but have no hands. I'm a plant's support, its central core, what am I, say no more?

The only thing I can do with this riddle is weep. What am I?