Will you be able, to make up a label? The tin is now full, there it sits on the table. You’re allowed, yes it’s true. If you try, I think you may do. Veggies don’t label themselves. So that’s a No-‘Word’-Do?

I fly without wings, Circles decide, Chasing the middle. A sharp little sting.

I'm a small chamber, insulated and very hot. What a I, that turns clay into a rock-hard pot?

Some of us sit atop icebergs Some of us hold all your trash Some of us lean til we topple Some of us are paid in cash

Vertical keeper, standing so proud; A stage for treasures, humble yet loud. Holding stories and spices, in quiet array, Guarding memories, come what may.