I can soften something crunchy, and make your breakfast sweet. Pour me over cereal, or dunk a cookie for a treat.

The Penguin. Mr. Peanut. Colonel Klink. Colonel Mustard. Possibly corrective eyewear for a cyclops?

Oft changeful muse with scripted fate, A silent bard of time's own gait, In numbered dance, dost keep our date.

Neatly trimmed from edge to edge, I lie between the path and hedge. Though every week I’m cut back low, I always find more room to grow.

The mundane heart of the trolley problem. The thing you might might pull to swap a train. In the halls of democracy, politicians move these to get their way.