Born of two, yet neither alone, stronger together than either known. I stand in statues, warm and bold, not quite silver, not quite gold.

Colorful sentinels of the kitchen realm, holding memories and messages with invisible hands, sticking around for a cold reception.

Roses are red, Matt Rose is cool. I'm a sort of table you'll find in a school

Soft embrace in the chilly night, A cozy shield from winter's bite. Draped in warmth from head to feet, A quiet hug where dreams meet.

Tall and tight, in lines I’m laid, A wooden wall that guards the glade. Pointed tops in a sturdy row, Keeping foes and critters low.