Around your pulse I quietly cling, measuring moments time will bring.

Upon my crown, a ring of silver gleams, I guard your craft from every hidden sting. Though small, I stand between your cloth and dreams- What humble shield am I, that fits a king?

I can own I can command I can measure I can hold steady Who am I?

Panic ensues when I go piping It can also ensue when I catch on fire. The first may be my goat legs and horns The second may be your poor cooking skills

My first is what cars do when they fast and furiously race through corners. My second is preceded by fire, cedar or cherry. Combined we form a thing that aimlessly floats by.