Has stalls, but no horses to feed Buyers browse to find what they need One little piggy went here Wall Street calls it a bull or a bear

An age old question. What washes up on tiny beaches?

An unseen force, both still and slight, I draw some near without a fight. Yet matching poles refuse embrace, and push each other from their place.

I hold your memories, dreams, and fears, while hidden far behind your ears.

Though flowers fade and seasons turn, their fragrant memory I preserve. In a crystal prison I remain, until a spray sets me free again.