I am produced by buzzing creatures, needed by cupric features, done by verbose teachers, and mimicked by Selene's reaches.

I could make butter, money, or life, Or be locked away if I cause too much strife Though the plainest form grows on a tree, There are many meanings of me

A league of jagged blades, Though no steel lines their edges, Fine or frayed, domestic glade, Twixt links of chain or hedges

I’m sounded as a warning to others around. Before battle, while driving, by bikes on the ground. A French one of me makes beautiful tones. Some animals use me to defend their homes.

English learners often misspell this word, changing it from something that is often vast and hot to something that is often small and sweet.