Attached to a shoe, I glide over ice. Part of an edge, you won't touch twice. A single piece of grass, standing tall, looking nice.

In the meadow, a gentle gait, not a gallop, not a stroll. Like a dance on tiptoes, it’s a pace that warms the soul.

When autumn leaves come tumbling down, I gather them from all around. I pull them into piles with care, until the yard is clean and bare.

I have the freedom of a bird, and the leash of a pet.

I have a single eye that cannot see, Yet everything bows in fear of me. I drop from the heavens to spin on the ground, Roaring like freight trains with nobody bound. I wear a funnel but pour no wine, And take what was yours to make it mine.