It's a sweet substance, but here's the thing: For one to enjoy it, one must brave the sting.

I’m a dancer with no feet, a giant spinning in the sky. I twist and turn across the earth, then vanish as I fly.

The boy who cries wolf sets his pants on fire. Although he is still a liar, he is no longer bothered by the insects in his attire. Or so he does say, but framing the innocent will never pay. Pantsless, he stands, getting eaten by the wolf himself, and the here wanted insects will just resume filling their shelves.

Deep in dank dark places, I grow down, testing humanity's patience. Water and time ensure I grow and grow, while ages make me grand. I hang about but never fly, the tortoise of fabled fame has nothing on me.

The river reaches a precipice, yet never turns away. Instead it leaps into the air, in clouds of silver spray.