Answer:
With pointed fangs it sits in wait. With piercing force it doles out fate, over bloodless victims proclaiming its might. Eternally joining in a single bite.
Never alive but practically extinct. How we miss the letters pressing the ribbon of ink. What is it?
Scythe of darkness, Shadow’s light. Guiding eye of thirteenth sight.
Thousands lay up gold within this house, But no man made it. Spears past counting guard this house, But no man wards it.
You get many of me, but never enough. After the last one, your life soon will snuff. You may have one of me but one day a year, When the last one is gone, your life disappears.
The warmer I am the fresher I am.