From creatures ancient, I now reside dark, and deep. I flow to wake machines from sleep. I’m slippery and smooth, I do my part, but without me, things fall apart.

I stretch without walls, hold games, crops, and silent force. I can be crossed, studied, or felt, yet I stay when nothing stands.

A drink most exquisite, luring bee to a flower. A mead for the gods and their immortal power. My first half, a bridge, chest to head. My second half, the yellow in the teeth.

I’m small and oval, wearing a green coat. Crack my skin and you may find a hard stone inside. Some keep me in salty baths, others press me for golden oil. On pizzas and salads I hide in plain sight. What am I?

When Boreas doth breathe his icy breath, The earth dons a cloak of slumbered death. Hesperus, with frosty kiss, chills the night, Till Phoebus returns to renew the light.