I make hell on earth, but I am not made of unearthly brimstone. You might see me in Place that once held a Hearth.

I've got lots of hair and a slender long neck, but I'm not a beauty to peck.

I left no breath, no sound, no cry, Yet linger still where eons lie. Not born of ink, yet shaped in lore, pressed deep beneath the rocky floor. No mind recalls the form I cast, Yet stone remembers what could not last.

Though I am dark, I die by night. You can only see me in the light.

I'm always a set of three The men in front often want me It's all skill that's what they say When they take the ball home at the end of the day