In warmest lands I grow with pride, with golden flesh and stone inside. My skin may blush in shades of green, a summer treat, both rich and clean. I’m sweet to eat, from tree I hang What am I, with tropical tang?

A vaulted pair in hollowed stone, where silent tides and winds are sown. Unseen gates that pull and press, harvesting life’s soft caress. No limbs to move, no eyes to see,Yet without my breath, you cease to be. What am I?

I am related to supercells, but I am not a mesocyclone. People often are fascinated with me.

I exist as a fruit, but I am not a vegetable. You might find me in ketchup, a salad, or even a sauce. .

Sometimes red, sometimes blue. Sometimes any other colorful hue. Around me red, you may circle about. But see me black, you might pout.