I wear a crown of emerald green that never fades to gray, I shed a tear of golden sap to seal my wounds away. I hide my seeds in wooden armor, tightly locked and round, And drop a carpet made of needles softly on the ground.

I fall from the sky, a fiery streak so bright, A visitor from space, in the darkest night. Though I may seem a star, I'm solid, heavy, and grand.

I start my life in a green coat, hanging upside down with a bunch of siblings. I have a spine but no bones and I bruise easily. What am I?

Leave bread too long and I may grow, yet molten metal may use me so. In one form living, in one form not, yet both share a name, believe it or not.

What do you call a seagull that flies over the bay?