I am a fruit as sweet as tango, harvested in June; July or August well I can go, outside of that my doom. When unripe I can be quite piney, but on point I can be sublimely, my hairy pit not gross enough to make a man go EEW.

I am known for being outdoors and in the sky, but I do not have wings to help me fly.. You might control me.

No feathered wing, but still I fly Through nighttime's silent glittered sky. No flame or light to guide my quest, Sound and shadow serve me best.

I am filled with inhabitants, though man is but a visitor. tourists killing me is common, but many find it sinister. In life my color is bright, but in death I am white

Softness merely skin deep, Heart of solid stone. Painted like a sunset, Poison in the bone