I’m buried deep but help things rise, keeping trees upright beneath the skies. And though you’d never think to look, I’m holding your teeth firmly in their nook.

What do you call a fly with no wings?

I’m hidden deep below, helping trees and teeth stay anchored where they grow.

In hands it finds its place, aiding craftsmen with gentle grace. Fixing woes with its silent might, a trusty friend in every plight.

I burn without fire, yet turn every heart into ash. I whisper in shadows, making monsters out of ghosts. The more you feed me, the hungrier I grow, yet I consume only the one who holds me.