In an age of quills, thou dost appear, A bard's mechanical muse, I fear. Thy keys do dance, In rhythmic trance, Spelling tales with thy metal cheer.

It combines your second most expensive possession and your favorite child. It lies under your feet all day.

Born in fire, shaped from stone, I pull what’s iron, yet stay alone. I never touch, yet forces bend. Opposites rush, like seeks its end. Invisible lines obey my call. What am I?

Small to large, with the sun’s light, I can help burn bright. Used to find clues, sometimes to find things you lose, I enhance the small world around.

I come from a tree. I am a companion to a man with a long beard. I am used to create and to destroy. What am I?