In fields of gold, I am not sown,
Yet through the fire, I am honed.
A daily staple, both rich and plain,
From humble grains, I do obtain.
In ovens hot, my form does rise,
A feast for both the poor and wise.
Though I am simple, do not disdain,
For sustenance, I do sustain.
In loaves or rolls, my shape is found,
A cornerstone, the world around.
What am I, with crust so fine?
A puzzle deep, a taste divine.
Though secrets hide within my head,
Only one word needs to be said.
What fills your belly, brings you cheer?
It's the answer you hold dear.
Choose wisely, let your intuition guide,
For in this riddle, truths abide.
Click on the correct answer.
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