I’m a purple fruit with a dusty hide, eaten fresh, baked, preserved, or dried. Peaches and cherries are in my family tree, I have a heart of stone buried inside of me. I must warn that if you eat too much, to and from the toilet you will surely march.

I lie on the ground, cracked and dry, Stirred up when rain falls from the sky. Bathe in me, but don’t get me in your eye. In Mississippi I might make a pie.

Little specs floating in the air, settling on all your stuff. It'll never be truly gone, no matter how much you wipe and buff.

I can be electric, Even under the sea. If you're kind of shady, You'll be called as slippery as me.

A sea on sirocco, At sea, ships that fly, Not just of your mind, Plain to see in the sky