In the frozen north, I am a whiskered hunter with no legs, breathing air but living in the deep. On dry land, I hold the power of kings, locking up secrets in blood-red wax. Engineers trust me to stop disasters before they leak, and the navy’s most elite call me by name. What word am I?

I wear a paper skirt and rise from my tin, with berries or chocolate tucked within.

The sands of time Swirl and whirl within me, Their tiny grains falling, Counting the seconds with gravity. It seems I always go too fast, So use what I represent wisely, Keep the memories and make them last.

Shell worth more than it's weight in stone... mechanics inside me uniquely their own... Can be recreated but not the same. .. Few rare originals own the name ..

My first four are component key of early semaphore My last four are a pair unique, just two on Earth, no more But really I am used to raise what enemies abhor