Ain’t nobody cool as me unless they’re known for being level headed. Long and green, crunchy and delicious. Sweet or sour, sometimes that bite can be vicious.

The ground around me is forgiving to a fall, but deadly without understanding. Near or far, people traverse on me for beauty or sport. Here beauty can turn to a swirl of chaos.

Stumps I make, The leftovers you take, I am man-made, Just a stick and a blade

When leaves turn to nature's confetti, and the sun takes a softer stroll across the sky, this season hums a cooler tune.

If mutts could meow, and tabbies could bark; If pencils wiped clean, but erasers could mark; If the grass were blue, And the sky was green; What would the answer, To this riddle have been?