Glass can't create me, but stone and steel do, I'm made by the sun, but out of its view, I can be tiny, and also be vast, In the shape of my maker, like a spell I am cast.

I am a whisper of color, reborn from a self-spun tomb. I dance on a breeze, a transient link between worlds, a symbol of transformation and the soul's uncertain flight beyond the veil.

I devour all things. I both shape and erase mountains and turn empires to dust. I am ever-present, but always fleeting. I’m both your greatest ally and your most relentless enemy.

Sometimes I’m gooey, firm, sharp or nutty. Despite these silly terms, I’m formed from the motherly essence of beasts, oft sough out in my golden years. Aged to perfection they say!

A vast botanical sight, hosting pollinators and people, what a delight! Some versions of me are aesthetically pleasing, while others have a functional reasoning, bringing about a bounty at harvest.