My child and mate are the subject of a very odd debate. Heed my call, it's known to all, a call to labor, less to arms.

I am small but mighty, harboring life within, waiting for the right moment to sprout and begin. Birds and animals eat me alive, but I am no one's pray. Instead, I give them shelter, one day.

I have a mouth but never talk And I can run but never walk What am I?

I get you down, but without me there is no up. I'm a heavy topic.

Three syllables, a clue for each, so hear my shrill call as i screech: First is an old Texan’s term for a matron. Second, a ruler, a leader, a patron. Last is my class, i’m a fine feathered peer; All together, my voice might resemble a jeer