I cut the gold from Sif’s fair hair, then paid it back with craft and care. I shaped a storm in hammer’s form, through trick and wager, slyly borne. And from a sprig both soft and slight, I stole away the god of light.

I often come when least expected, linking thoughts once unconnected. Before the plan or thing you do, I’m the first small spark breaking through.

My first is a number, my second another. And each, I assure you, will rhyme with the other. My first you will find is one-fifth of my second. And when added together, two dozen is reckoned.

If yet unmolested, then I mean to line. Bring me to an ER, your stock I'll confine. Hand me an L, the laments will come slow. Touch me to string, smaller pants I bestow.

Where ancient secrets still are unknown. For birds and eyes look back at the stone. Read me left or read me right, The Rosetta Stone brought me to light.