A frozen cloak I wear beneath the sun, a silence thick, yet still undone. My trees stay low, my stars shine high, with dancing lights across the sky. I’m harsh, I’m bold, both still and grand, a frozen breath upon the land.

I am a collection of grains for chickens to consume. I am an action by which you conduct in a dining room. I am a gathering of social media posts when you scroll the pits of doom.

I'm the snake that eats himself; The eternal spinning wheel; The trek from full to new again, From grazing fields to hunter's meal.

They may be small. They may be huge. They may be fast. They may be slow. Some are still here, flying around. Yet they have been here for millions of years. What are they?

I ate the one after the next - who was three by three, The count of the rainbow's arcs, The steps on music's marks.