I can save, but I cannot read. People use me to remember.

With my many layers, I can bring you to tears. I'm usually sharp but I can be sweet.

Some white men in green suits, a bunch breaking bread As time goes by, a yellow dye pervades their garments threads Then longer still, their coffee spills and stains them all with brown Before too long those friends have gone, I ran them out of town

I am green in the fields, black at the market, and red at home.

I have a face but no eyes, hands but no fingers, and a belt but no waist. I travel without moving and tell all without speaking. Though a gift of time, I am taken for granted.