I'm traded when some seek their vengeance, I'm heard in almost every sentence. You turn me, blind, feign you don't care, Yet my flipped view lends you my stare.

Through valleys and over mountains I roam, Guiding through deserts and forests, through shadow and sun. Poets honor me in verse and in ode; Some run toward me with purpose; others, from where I lead do they run.

I joined a girl and her dog, on a brick laden road, all to find her way home. My own goals were smart, though I didn't figure that out, until someone told me directly. Who am I, a nine letter word, that generally is not a pronoun?

A slang for breast, I can hold many liquids, I can also be used to make music, or be found in old cartoons with three x's

Don’t look so glum, For you’re a peach, And I’m just a. . .