Ten travelers a-scaling On a range of white and black Each step they take I tremble At a hammer's mighty whack No pitons to assist them Just a staff and cords and keys A harmony of movement Til they rest again at ease

I have no voice, but secrets I keep. I have no arms, yet treasures I sleep. I guard the valuable, hidden from sight. What am I, locked ever so tight?

I have a sole but no soul I have a heel but cannot walk I have straps to hold your feet But I cannot talk What am I

I have a sole but no soul I have a heel but cannot walk I have straps to hold your feet But I cannot talk What am I?

Compound word, etched to observe: Mystical inscriptions, beckon magic’s glowing call. Ancient text and symbols, carved in tablets standing tall. A monumental mass, aimed at glory or the fall. First word carves a secret. Second shatters glassy walls.