I’m tiny and I crawl, In a long busy line, not tall. I carry food that’s hard to lift, To my home where crumbs we gift. Who am I?

Golden chambers, sweetly filled, where buzzing architects tirelessly build. A waxy palace, hexagonal and neat, a place where liquid gold finds its seat.

Born of heat and effort, it beads on brows like nature's diamonds, a testament to toil or thrill, whispering of hard work beneath the sun.

A series of stories that doesn’t involve zones or sterling. Even sterling silver, along sunlight, garlic, holy water, and wooden stakes do not cause vampires in these stories any harm.

If you like pina coladas, you probably like this fruit. A lot of suntan lotion smells like this fruit as well.