A thing in the middle of the face: If it's big, one may want to erase A part of it. But be careful, Don't be like Jackson And leave but a trace!

In the days of yore, when tales were spun, a carved relic held secrets under the sun. Whispered wisdom in ancient tone, a saga etched in solid stone.

I’m laid down for horses, or lifted to sip, one covers the floor, one touches your lip.

Has wire loops but cannot tie, Whips up cream and make egg whites fly. Spins in a bowl with a twist of your wrist, To blend up a batter that you can't resist.

A micro one of these will heat things up for you