I am small, yet countless, sleeping in the land, planted with care by a patient hand. From me rise sustenance, golden and warm, nourishing lives in many a form.

Family with the thingamas, both jig and Bob, a name for a thing when it's name you forgot. Aquatic aristocracy has it with gadgets aplenty, It is grim, I'll let you in, Don't feed him four hours after twenty.

You fall into me when the door is locked, I take it all the heat, the shock. Sheets get tangled, breath runs fast, I hold the moment till it’s past. I’m where desire slows its tread, Soft below, but firm instead.

Let us inside you, Beauty is pain, By hook or by crook, A little less plain Punching and pushing, Stinging and sear, Now we're within you, And we'll stay right here

I’m information, I’m sport, I’m dance. I’m happy, I’m sad, I’m ham. What am I?