As a noun, I fly without wings. As a verb, I’m an old-school tactic for con-men.

I’m called a parent, but I never give birth. I host every connection, route every signal, and when I fail, nothing else can boot. What am I?

A porcelain boat in a tiled sea, Where bubbles and rubber ducks roam free. A tranquil retreat from the daily grind, Where worries and water intertwine.

I have only adoration for you, and I spread this far and wide I can support you with or without a human vessel If directed at flames I can cause heated emotions to grow stronger But I only wish to cool you down What am I?

you'll take me on a run. you'll take me on a walk. but once you get home, you take me off