I’m crooked in posture and humble in size, a shelter that doesn't pretend. When rain forms streams and wind sighs, travelers may call me a friend.

A tool for opening crates and yet also a powerful weapon to fend of some pirates

From crashing seas or garden hose, from perfume mist upon your clothes. I scatter drops that drift away, what am I that floats this way?

From rooftops I begin to grow, as falling drops forget to flow. I lengthen slow in winter’s chill, what am I, sharp and still?

You can find a tempest in it Or pekoe Or oolong Or rooibos Steep and serve