A bug, termite, locust or ant, All things that form the name I chant. Feared by most, yet I serve a role, Son, leave me be-don’t take a stroll.

In ancient whispers, a river flows, Where memory fades as a cold wind blows. A stream of dreams where past is shed, Calm as the owl, in night's cloak of dread.

I lie between giants, where rivers like to roam. Not a peak, not the sky, but often called their home.

Sometimes I am scaly, sometimes I'm not. I'm found in water, and occasionally on land. I have different patterns and sometimes just a dot. But you best be careful, I can blend in with rocks and sand.

Deep in the earth, I awake to bring flowers. For a genius, I appear before them to bring them power. For a pocket monster, My name is in their own For what am I, when I could be found in your home?