A flavor, some think as plain But brings taste to cookies and cake Imagine the taste, it shouldn't be a strain It's in so many things you want to bake.

You spin and twist, I stay true to my aim. Some built into wrist, a cardinal fame. I point to the tip, on your planet’s plane. Magnetic in fields, showing due, is my game.

What is seen in the middle of March and April that can't be seen at the beginning or end of either month?

In science I measure, in earth I reside, on skin I appear, though small I may hide. From numbers to tunnels to marks you can see, one word defines all versions of me.

Black tears of the void, Words bloom on pale paper fields, Stories stain the page.