Answer:
Thousands lay up gold within this house, But no man made it. Spears past counting guard this house, But no man wards it.
Though not a plant, has leaves. Though not a beast, has spine. Though many wouldn't need this thing, It's more valuable than wine.
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.
Something wholly unreal, yet seems real to I. Think my friend, tell me where does it lie?
Flat as a leaf, round as a ring. Has two eyes, can't see a thing.
What is so fragile that saying its name breaks it?