She put her lips together like a duck, And went into this to grab a buck, What do you call this face of such distaste, Or this money safekeeping place?

A voice of iron, cold and thin. I live one moment, sharp and bright, Then vanish like a soundless night. I'm not a word, yet I can speak I'm not a bell, but bells may seek my company in towers tall. What am I? Listen... that's my call.

I am made to be broken, yet breaking me can ruin a man. I can be given without hands, kept without a lock, and stolen without anyone moving. Kings build empires on me, liars spend me cheaply, and fools test me until I disappear.

I can shatter. I can break. I can tear, bleed, beat, and stop. I can, on occassion, even be moved. What am I?

A glass envelope for ocean bound messages