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

I am a humble servant, a giver of things, though I possess no hands. I stand in kitchens, bathrooms, and sometimes by the door, dispensing what the user demands. With a push or a pull, a twist or a squeeze, I make the task so grand.

I can keep belongings safe, doors secure, or be a strand of hair. My only weaknesses are a hammer, a thief, or a gust of wind.

I capture time without moving, stealing smiles and moments, painting memories with light.

I leave powder on your fingers and clothes, and become smaller as your creativity flows. I make the pavement a canvas for art, until the rain makes my masterpieces depart.