In an age of quills, thou dost appear, A bard's mechanical muse, I fear. Thy keys do dance, In rhythmic trance, Spelling tales with thy metal cheer.

It combines your second most expensive possession and your favorite child. It lies under your feet all day.

Born in fire, shaped from stone, I pull what’s iron, yet stay alone. I never touch, yet forces bend. Opposites rush, like seeks its end. Invisible lines obey my call. What am I?

Molded in fire, I'm almost alive, I'm what's left when the bright flames fails to survive, Once I was solid, with purpose and form, Now I’m the quiet that follows the storm. From me you began, to me you return, Dust to dust - what all things earn.

My first three is a call for a taxi ride My last three will have a fish wiggling inside. My middle one, is you.