I guide the seasons every year, A pattern that is very clear, I am present music, poetry and art, And even in the echo of a heart

I am a god, a planet, and I measure heat. What am I?

I’m striped in style, not dressed in flora. Not a king or queen, yet patterned, proud. I graze the plains, not the Sahara, like an artists canvas that touched a walking barcode.

I’m a cosmic vacuum cleaner, I slurp up stars and planets. I’m darker than midnight and I love to eat light. I hang out in space, don’t get too close, you’ll vanish without a trace.

I am related to water, but I am not a liquid. People often imagine shapes with me.