Arre you bored walking? Fret knot. For soon will be fall. A length of the puzzle, cored from the tall. Singular no bend trend, the twenty-tens called. Vessels on laps, piece by piece hung on walls.

Milk, water, juice, tea, and more passes past my small mouth. First in, then later back out. I'm sometimes curvy, with an hourglass-like figure. Other times I'm little more than a box, but I always have one arm out and settling on my hip, giving you a handle to pick up my dainty body and pour.

A tower of liquid, a cyclone of drink, guiding the flow to the edge of the brink.

Before iron ruled and steel took hold, I forged the weapons heroes sold. The age of man once spoke my name, what am I, of ancient fame?

If I don't fit you must acquit! If I do shame on me.