I saw him for the first time, at First Sunday after Easter, he was a little garcon, soon tasked with tucking my ropes, he was deaf and all alone, and through him, I called people into my home.

I am a tool you use and a thing you do. Use me on wood and get told what to do.

Tiny guardians of reminders and doodles, clinging to a cold giant, holding memories, art, and takeout dreams in place.

Step by step, I lead you high, a zigzag path that meets the sky. I spiral up, I twist and wind, a journey taken one step at a time.

Arr, I’ve but one tiny eye, pale in the light, Yet in the pot I turn soft and white. In fields I stand, in bowls I rest, From East to West, I’m served the best. What am I?