Down in Florida, I help grow islands of great girth Unique to my kind, a plant that gives live birth What am I?

I cradle giants with iron skin, yet never move, though tides begin. My arms stretch wide, a shelter true, for ships that roam the ocean blue. Though made of stone, I breathe the sea; guess what steadfast place I be?

I can swim, but I cannot fly. You might see me in a desert.

First of thirteen siblings, I joined them to kick out my father. And when he left we got together and came up with our own rules. I share our heart with my sister upstairs and my name with my lawful, rebellious daughter.

What has a bed but does not sleep It runs but never walks It has a mouth but does not talk