I sound like taxi stuff, But I'm kraut and slaw, Bubble and squeak, Rolled rice and beef, Maybe kimchi, raw?

Your nose, your eyes, your tap, your fridge, your car, your clock, a river under the bridge. None have legs, yet they all do this.

I protect your table from a stainy fate. A little rug for your dinner plate.

I carry a silver thread inside, that creeps or retreats with warmth’s tide. I never think, yet I reveal what skin and air can make you feel.

A spectacle that protects from the suns gaze and also guides your eyes to comfortable sway