When life's journey's a grand old affair, a small slip promises you'll be there. A stub of trust in your trembling hand, granting entrance to sights so grand.

I fit in sockets, and brighten the space, I sprout, then grow, then flower in place. A four-letter word, one few stop to think, Yet I live in the soil, and glow in a blink.

Silent guardians of plazas and parks, they stand frozen in tales told by sculptor's hands, capturing history's breathless gaze.

I can be baked but I'm not bread. When I'm hot, people want to get rid of me. I'm a component in chip manufacturing but I'm not silicon. When there are many of me that are small, we're insignificant. When people sit on a couch, they can become a kind of me.

If you get a call to ask if it's running, you'd better go catch it!