I wear a coat of softest down, But have no need for hat or crown. I whisper secrets, soft and low, And where I sleep, the dust motes glow. What am I?

I drift down cold from skies above, and hush the earth with silent love. I build your forts upon the ground, then fade when warmth comes back around.

I start with the end of a cough My middle is the sound of the second of women I finish with the middle of the nation What am I?

We take and take from womb to grave But never have our fill The more we try to hold the thing The weaker grows the will But give it to another and A life you shall refill

I am the final breath of a roaring fire A grey, soft ghost that cannot tire I am light enough to fly on the wind Yet I mark the place where the tree has sinned I am both the end of the flame And a tall strong wood that shares my name