I am the steed you never tame, Galloping through your still frame. I leave no hoofprints, yet I stay, Haunting thoughts till break of day.

I resemble a pincushion, but I do not taste bad. You can make a sauce with me with me.

I grow in the garden, yet not on a tree, in a salad or sandwich, I’m often set free. I’m crushed or sliced, but not put in a sweet, I’m plump when I’m ready, savory, and neat.

I hold no stillness, but I carry much weight, I bend and I twist, but am never late. I carve the land, but I'm rarely seen in full, a guide to the oceans, but never the pull.

I bite, yet have no teeth to show, found in green where few will grow. Through drought and heat, I stand with grace, A guarded heart in barren place.