My first three is black and white, with red inside. My last four can toll the hour. Together, more of me is the only prescription for a fever.

I am made from sixty, and I make something from sixty. Who am I?

I aid in covering a full moon. Coffee, Bible, and Orion share my name. I shield you as you’re lost in words.

Franklin sang my praises of that no one can deny, To gladly accept a pardon would not be a jive lie, In the end the bald contingency had their say, Yet I am still celebrated in a very special way.

My size by nature makes me hard to see If creature I am not, listening I may be I am for humans a vexation, for machines a contradiction Though in both I can pave the path to affliction