I bloom upon the face with grace, a quiet light no words replace. In joy I grow, in warmth I stay, then gently fade and slip away.

I'm hard and dense, at least in most, as your body is my host. Without me, you would be, a pile of the world's nastiest jelly.

Someone ripped me off and took my coat of wool.

I was an icon in the heyday of Microsoft word whenever you needed help. But often people did not like me. Now I am relegated to holding documents and being bent out of shape to clean hard to reach places.

I am no chum, though I hang beside one. I am not glum, though I wear a somber hue. I ripen while the bees hum, While distant fingers strum, Feasts leave behind a crumb, And many succumb to my sweetness. I am no drum, though hollow at my core. Nor am I scum, though some would stain my name. A stone guards my heart all the same. What am I?