Encased in me, often a mystery, my soft shell is a decoration to see. From fruit to beef all are welcome, a wonderful scent is the invitation to come.

I'm clear, but I would make a terrible window. I'm within glasses, but I don't help you see. I'm cold, but you usually don't warm me up. I'm sometimes sticky and sometimes slippery.

A pliable pleasure so sick'ningly sweet, An ancient endeavor and culinary feat, A sucrosial cure for your downs and your blues, In the crackle of flame, set to soft, gooey ooze

From the middle of a storm to children's faces, you can find me in many places. On a needle's end and a tuber's skin, and the faces of each one of your kin.

Don’t get me wet, keep me dry, I really do prefer nice clear skies. Twist and turn, push and release, I’m used to tell your friend a Myriad of things. Near or far, wherever you are, I help close the gap between there and back.