When thunder speaks, I lose my nerve, I blink and stutter, as if unsure. Not out, not on, a pulse obscure, I warn you that your electricity may not endure.

I follow the sun when it slips from sight, I'm gloomy, obscure and not very bright, I’m feared by some, yet needed for rest, Name me, at hiding things I'm the best.

A favorite material for gear in the cold, wash me once, and I look quite old. Described as comfy, cozy, and relatively cheap, I’m shorn from the backs of fluffy sheep.

Spun by a moths cocoon, found woven on a loom. Fine garments are made with the softest touch.

A body known for being blue It’s shallow and surrounded by beautiful creatures to view. A barrier separates me from the rough sea, so you can enjoy a swim within me.