In yon chamber, a keeper of lore, Holds memories of miles, stored. A tarsal’s friend it dost be, Yet it holds not the knee, 'Tis a vessel where loafers are received.

Though she may be the lone stand on the beach Her stock is always at an arms reach If she ever needs some more She may always check the seashore

A type of pet with googly eyes. You might have had one during your early school days.

I’m reddish-brown but not a leaf, I’m found in wires and coins beneath. I conduct well, but I’m not alive, What am I that helps circuits thrive?

I’m carved in an arrow to guide a clean release, or named where mountains briefly cease.