I'm a real blossoming beauty, But I'm no damson in distress, You can eat me when I'm wrinkled, But fresh or in a wine is best!

I am a canine who can be found at certain minor league baseball parks, retrieving a hitter’s wooden implement. My title suggests I could be a pet for Adam West or Christian Bale.

I start as a caterpillar small and slow, then wrap myself in a cocoon to grow. I emerge with colorful wings so light, and flutter through gardens in graceful flight. What am I?

In the ponds, I squat and stare, my skin a bumpy, bumpy affair. As night falls, my song will rise, catching bugs with my long tongue ties.

I'm always around, but never in reach, Too empty to hold, too vast to teach. The planets all wander inside of my face, Yet no one can touch me, no matter the chase.