I tend to be paired, but can work as one. Even alone, I'd block out the sun. So unremarkable that you could yawn. I'm beautiful still, and frequently drawn. I'm bound to my home, but shiver and flow. My greatest connection is to the wind, oh!

In the forest of keys where letters take flight, Beneath nimble fingers, ink dances in light. Hear the clattering rain, a rhythm so spry, On parchment it weaves tales as time passes by.

Conception, I deny. I'm born from wounded trees that cry. Entropy’s child, shaped by fire. I twist and yield, yet never die.

I mark the hours but never sleep, My steady heart is wound to keep. Though hands I have, I hold no art, Yet time itself I hold in part.

Cut off my first, yet I sound the same, I linger in linen, in air, in flame.