A thing unused, a spot of tea A coin produced, but some make me Of garden run, I, pests repel And some may use me in their spells

I'm counted in shares when markets rise, And simmer in pots as savory prize. I fill the shelves in every shop, And once held heads that could not stop.

Crafted by hands, held in an embrace. when I'm alone, I'm safe in my case. I have a neck, no throat, no lungs.with six or twelve voices my song sung. I can sing a whisper or powerfully loud. Enjoy me by yourself, or with a crowd.

Shaken, rocked, up and down, back to front, a silent tempest of ever-frozen flakes rages over a still moment 'neath a robe of glass, then quickly calms.

I’m strong till the moment you need me the most, then vanish so quick you’d swear I’m a ghost. When I buffer, you suffer, it’s always the worst, but somehow those ads still manage to load first.