I’m color, loved by many, a simple one of three, but if you start to feel me, you’ll have my sympathy. For oceans far have seen me yonder, and often do I sit and ponder, what would you do if you were feeling dabba dabba dee?

I hold a song but have no voice, A prison born from someone’s choice. Though built with care and often bright, I turn free flight to captive sight.

Golden treasure in a liquid form, Born where buzzing swarms perform. I cling to spoons and sweeten your tea, A hive-born treat from flower to me.

A place am I where many roam, or some may even call me home. This way is done to herbs and more, preparing both to bake and store. When dropped, things are upon me found, for I am known thus as the:

You might have lived without me had I not given you so much, I hurt you when we touch, you make, and take life with me; I have no shadow, yet I do.