I blush in the sun though I’m born green, I’m soft as a fruit but in salads I’m seen. Slice me or sauce me, I brighten the plate - or serve as a tool to show audiences hate.

I fly through the air in a stripy suit, I don’t play a trumpet, drum, or flute.

I start as a flower but grow underground, a wood-like shell waiting to be found. Two in a pod, but not a true nut. What am I, that makes elephants happy and sound?

It causes the mightiest king to fall the same as the basest peasant. Oh, and apples too.

I’m found in socks, scarves, and mittens, and often in the paws of playful kittens.