I am related to trees, but I am not made of wood. People often correct mistakes with me.

They call me a god wherever I rome and Close to the heat is where I call home. Seven siblings I have, now that one’s gone. I shepherded men atop mighty redstone. I make you reflect when I pour on the scene. I’ve made kings mad, and led a great queen

I’m spoken but never aloud, I hide in plain sight, wrapped in my shroud. I turn a sentence into fog, And make a man a demagogue. Break me once, and secrets bleed- What am I that spies all need?

You ask for me at the bakery, And an unlucky number you’re handed. Next time go and buy some eggs, If you don’t want this number expanded.

I hum and whir with noble intent, until your patience has been spent. I’m full of paper, yet scream for more, then jam myself with page four.