Conception, I deny. I'm born from wounded trees that cry. Entropy’s child, shaped by fire. I twist and yield, yet never die.

I mark the hours but never sleep, My steady heart is wound to keep. Though hands I have, I hold no art, Yet time itself I hold in part.

Cut off my first, yet I sound the same, I linger in linen, in air, in flame.

Use me to drink, use me to bathe, you can even use me to describe the way I behave.

I start with the letter e, l end with the letter e. I contain only one letter, Yet I am not the letter e! What am I?