Answer:
We are few to the wise; We are abundant to the drunken; We can calm the beast and are precious to the child; We can devour the heart, without piercing the skin
Three little letters, a paradox to some. The worse that it is, the better it becomes.
I grow where no flower grows, where no light touches the walls, up or down, that I don't care, was here before people were.
Round like a dishpan and smaller than a bathtub. But the ocean can't fill it. What is it?
Without a bridle, or a saddle, across a thing I ride a-straddle. And those I ride, by help of me, though almost blind, are made to see.
Keep doing me to avoid lens dryness