I wield the sea’s power with mighty grace, three sharp fingers, one strong face. In a god’s grip, I rule the tide, with every wave, the oceans glide. I’m not a utensil for food or feast, but in my hands, the storm’s unleashed.

Stack five of me I’m still not tall With five of me you’d never fall Five friends live at the end of my street A useful lump of human meat.

I can be red, orange, yellow, green, or blue. I can help to tell time or to prepare your food. I’m sometimes as precious as can be, but other times I’m worth less than free.

I have a blade, but I do not have a weapon. I am often seen in homes.

I hold what’s wild, yet I do not bite, with bars of steel or woven might. I do not move, but I confine, a prison small by grand design. You’ll find me where the songbirds sing, or where the lion’s roars might ring.