I am born of a circle but broken in part, A shape in the heavens, and a baker’s fine art. I can tighten a bolt with an adjustable grip, Or cradle the tide where the dark waters slip. With many a street name, my curve is complete, Yet I fade into shadow and bow at your feet. What am I?

Golden echoes that linger in the heart, turning simple days into timeless landscapes. Tree climbing and hiding in forts, chasing ice cream trucks, snow days and hot chocolate. Saturday morning cartoons, bedtime stories. Elementary school art teachers with unfortunate names.

In crystal form, I sweeten life's brew, a delight to ants and a baker's muse. My grains perform a delicate dance, making bitter more palatable with just a glance.

At the start of the day you may throw me open, At the end of it you will draw me closed, I'm used to denote the final phase of your life, Or just the closing credits of a stage show

I am basically a fancy hat, with a much larger ego.