Born in the east where scholars made their mark, A silent skin for thought, from light to dark. I carry vows and wars, both truth and caper, Fold me, burn me, sign me, what am I?

I rode in wagons and waited by flame, Round as the moon, scorched with my name. I spoke in whistles when water was near, Calling the tired, the cold, the clear. From dawn’s first light to the last ember’s glow, I fed the trail with a steady pour.

As kids in schoolyards would often howl and say: what's black and white and red all over?

Congratulations! You hit the .... On it's head.

Someone left this mallet, Oh, no... That letter was upside down. Best if we return it.