High walls may fail and iron gates may bend, yet I keep the rain from the wounded and the weary. I stand above kings and beggars alike, silent in triumph, silent in ruin. When fire takes me, a hall becomes a grave of ashes; when I hold fast, a home endures. What am I?

Pink and rubber, I rub side to side, removing marks, made of a temporary state. Sometimes alone, most often partnered with a graphite friend, sharing a yellow jacket. Once I’m done, don’t forget to clean up the mess, as someone needs to remove the marks I left.

You sit at me for hours, though nowadays you can stand, for paperwork to computers I will always be at hand.

I’m full of tiny teeth but I do not bite. I’m dotted with holes of different size. I have with me a handle and sometimes guard. I care not what I turn into pieces, harder the easier - beware your fingers.

Smashed, fried, baked, roasted, scalloped, in soup, even raw I bring comfort to every table. Yum!