I breathe no air, yet flames may rise, A quiet heart where fire lies. I do not hunger, yet I feed On sparks and fuel to serve your need. Cold and still when left alone, But quick to warmth when I am known. With turning hands or subtle press, I wake to life, I burn, I bless. I hold no taste, I smell no spice, Yet shape the meals you savor twice. From gentle simmer, soft and low, To roaring heat where passions grow. I cradle pots, I kiss the pan, I aid the art of every hand. No voice have I, yet songs are made In bubbling notes and oils that braid. What am I, both tame and wild, A keeper of flame, by humans styled?

Upon a cap I often sway, marking a special graduation day. Though made of many hanging threads, I celebrate all the many paths you’ve tread.

Tss, tss... Cucumber Melon, Love Spell You lovely ladies wear it well Amber Romance, Pear Glace Take them in, waft away Feeling nostalgic? Represented? How do you apply these aromas scented?

I only succeed in doing my job by destroying myself in the process.

I have no legs to walk the earth, though many rely on my steady frame, I sit in silence through the park, a simple resting place by name. I hold the weight of weary souls, of lovers whispering in the park, And watch the changing of the guard from morning light to sudden dark. I might be made of stone or wood, of iron cast or slatted pine, A place to pause and read a book, or watch the passing clouds align. Though I am stationary here, in courts of law my word is gold, And athletes wait upon my length until their strategy is told.