Not to be confused With where one best keeps the wine Oftentimes, a book

I carry words but have no voice, I travel far without a choice. Sending lovely message for all read, Will you be there to plan the seed.

I climb and I twine, My fruits are eaten raw or dry. The juice from them is called like I, with one letter... doubled. What am I? Do you know or are you puzzled?

I may be heard before I’m seen, In brittle wood or tempers mean. I strike with teeth or angry tone, then fade as quickly as I’ve shown.

I wear a crown of tiny beads, all dressed in ruby red, I’m sweet with just a hint of tart in every bite you’ve had. Blow me not I’m not a sound your lips would make in jest, But place me on a cake or tart, and I will be the best.