My greeting is a warning; my welcome, a feast. Many flee my herald, yet few resist the priest. I split a thorned chapel, serve custard to the bold, What monarch of the market am I, crowned in green and gold?

I walk with you through stone and vale, Retelling each and every tale. No hand can touch me, none possess, Yet I return your sound’s caress.

Born of ruin, I climb unseen, a shadow of fire that’s never clean. No feet to walk, no breath to choke, yet I can kill, for I am ....

Remove my first letter, and I'll fuel the flame, Remove my next, she's not my blood but kin in name. Remove my third, I shine on high, Whole, I’m the ground where roots may lie.

Only one color, but not one size, stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies, present in sun, but not in rain, doing no harm, and feeling no pain.