I have delicate green leaves and a name you might know, But when I turn into seeds, I have a different way to go. To some, I am citrusy, fresh, and bright, To others, a soapy taste is all I invite.

In roofs high above where I stay, a bright beam in the dark of day. I open to the sky, where the sun's rays fly, lighting rooms in a magical way.

Cows, sheep, goats, and more all have four; while camels, llamas, hippos, and kangaroos have three. We humans have just one, to hold what we chew.

I fall in silence, soft and slow, and hush the world in muffled glow. I build your forts and shape your play, then melt and quietly slip away.

I'm molded by hand, yet have no form. From earth I arise, through sun and storm. Pottery's my destiny, a vessel to be, Or sculpture's embrace, for all eyes to see. What am I?