I’m a fiery little cave with a strict diet of mud and clay. Artists whisper, Please don’t crack!

Folded by day, by night I reign, a uniform for sleep’s domain. Spell me one way here or there, either way, I’m bedtime wear.

I carry no crown, yet I command a thousand doors. I speak in clicks and whispers of steel. When you are stranded outside your own kingdom, I arrive like a quiet hero with a ring full of riddles.

I’m paid without price, yet I’m costly indeed, In coin or in chorus, I answer the need. I’m offered in silence, in speeches, in song, To heroes, to rulers, to those who’ve been wronged. I rise in a toast or I bow in respect, In statues and stories I’m carefully kept.

Tighten or loosen, I love the small fight, I grip silver circles and squeeze them just right. I turn nuts and bolts with a twist of my will.