Some call me sweet, some feel a burn. They tend to weep. Not my concern. I rise from depths, yet reach for sun. Tears flow forth and noses run.

Curved crescent cloaked in yellow, sweet companion of monkeys, and slips beneath feet like a sneaky fellow.

I can move you across water, but I cannot help you at all, on land. People use me to row and row.

I can inform, but I cannot speak. People use me to escape reality.

I dwell where fire once kissed the stone, in silent cliffs and caverns grown. I’m born in time, through pressure deep, yet in my gleam, no light shall sleep. Kings have craved my glassy might; dark as night. Sharp as light. What am I?