I am born from fire yet favor the cold, I drink no blood, yet stories I hold. I whisper in palms and argue with night, Too small for a war, too honest for spite. I serve in the dark where silence is law. Say my name once, and you’ll feel what you saw.

I’m not alive, but I can die. And, always, when you need me the most.

Throw away the outside and cook the inside, then eat the outside and throw away the inside.

The end of my name rings of the royal, But where I’m hung up could make your skin boil! I am stuffed with delights by the dozen Or by two stinky twins, and their ten wriggly cousins.

I am commonly referred to as a cob when eaten.