Without a voice I tell countless tales, I turn silent thoughts into written word, My mark remains where memory fails, For I am mightier than the sword. What am I?

Mirror's muse, it craves the gaze; a hollow throne where pride parades. Dress it up, it takes delight; in endless admiration, it basks in light.

I may pour drinks, throw strikes, or lure a fly, one sits on tables, one aims high. One waits in gardens, green and still, what am I, with more than one will?

I’m born from the dirt, but my fate is gold, A humble root with stories untold I dance in oil where flames run high, Then release an aroma that makes mouths sigh My first name whispers of romance and art, Of cobblestone streets and a cultured heart My second speaks of a fiery fate, A golden transformation I cannot escape Crisp on the outside, soft within, I’m the salty treasure that pulls you in I arrive by the handful, never alone, And somehow vanish before I’m known. What am I?

Used to rise or descend, one measured pace at a time. On Privet Drive, a boy slept beneath them.