Born of storm and secret flame; I guard the old, forgotten name. Crowned in fear, I do not die; but my presence scorches the sky. What am I?

A carnival of colors where the Amazon sings, and football's dance with samba brings. Land kissed by coffee's embrace, where Christ outstretches on a mountain's face.

I stood before radar, before radio's call, a steadfast guardian through tempest and squall. By flame, by lens, by electric might, I pierced the dark with guiding light. What am I, watching each night?

Cowboys need them to wrangle and make sounds like jingle and jangle They can be a pair or a team And five rings it would seem The greatest fundamentally loved the angle

Just brothers, not twins, and but a mix One is now brightest and the other actually six They rode on a schooner, and arrive in the summer. The sailors look to them for fortunes to fix.