By broom I travel through the night, with whispered spells and flickering light. A pointed hat upon my head, old tales are where my name is said.

In pots it simmers, soft and white, A staple treat, a cook's delight. From east to west, fills every bowl, A humble grain with a timeless role.

I make nothing but noise I'm full of what I drag up I empty every room I'm in But things feel cleaner after

Some of us sit atop icebergs Some of us hold all your trash Some of us lean til we topple Some of us are paid in cash

Vertical keeper, standing so proud; A stage for treasures, humble yet loud. Holding stories and spices, in quiet array, Guarding memories, come what may.