In realms where winged sandals dost glide, A slayer of beasts, though mortal, he cried. With shield of reflection, his valor was cast, To save fairest maid from a fate most aghast.

I could be an heirloom, I may be from Rome. If it’s cherries or grapes, I’m never alone. Look at my family, and poison you’ll find. But I’m lovely to eat, if you’re so inclined.

Jury of the natural world, All lives I will devour. Standing proud in rings of peers, In rot and dirt I cower.

I make a great gift, but I do not make you anything. People often sniff me.

I leap and bounce with energy bright, or flow in silence, fresh and light. I’m a season, a coil, or water’s gift, In one word, my meanings shift.