I’m how a worm avoids a shoe, and toddlers show excitement too. I’m not quite dancing, not quite crawl, what movement am I, loved by all?

I am not king, though close in line, In palace halls I’m dressed to shine. Yet in old tales, one kiss may wait, to free me from a pond-bound fate.

I lay no eggs, yet a chick will arise, From the spicy ash where the parent dies. I consume my own body to conquer the grave, Reborn in the flame from the life that I gave. What am I?

I'm how mother nature let's off steam, in large and violent displays. Best keep a safe distance, or your skin will be glazed, not worth that selfie on your home page.

I hug tiny roots in a gentle embrace, I feed every seed in its snug little place.