My first three are a friendly pet, a favorite of witches when their fur is jet. My last six are upstanding sorts, of wood or stone they make sublime supports. The whole of me is a hungry chap, who often dreams of having wings to flap.

Dances around me, never touching. Infrequent visits, such big leaps. Over fifty years since our last, yet I see you before I dream.

Alone, I’m rather harmless, but remember faces well With two, we have attempted murder, though harm never befell

Born in warmth, I wake the light yet never chase the flame. My kin are gilded treasures, boxed and sold without a name. Cowards wear my ghost in jest when courage takes its flight, And pox-kissed youth once cursed my bite.

I run like a river and sometimes I weep. I am the ink for a promise you always must keep. Trapped in my cage, I ebb and I flow. If you set me free, I harden and slow.