A pliable pleasure so sick'ningly sweet, An ancient endeavor and culinary feat, A sucrosial cure for your downs and your blues, In the crackle of flame, set to soft, gooey ooze

From the middle of a storm to children's faces, you can find me in many places. On a needle's end and a tuber's skin, and the faces of each one of your kin.

Don’t get me wet, keep me dry, I really do prefer nice clear skies. Twist and turn, push and release, I’m used to tell your friend a Myriad of things. Near or far, wherever you are, I help close the gap between there and back.

Every night as you rest your head, I'm lurking down at the end of your bed. Bind me with leather or let me be free, I'll leave some prints to follow me.

I'm unused at night, I'm up off the ground. I host those in flight, at many homes in your town.