Endless blue cradle where sailors roam, Cradling life beneath my foam. I sing lullabies of whispers and gales, Carrying ships with my timeless tales.

In peace it glides, with wings so pure, a gentle emblem, soft and sure. In olive branches, tales are spun, its mission clear, yet wars are won.

I grow without a root or seed, from dripping water slowed by freeze. I hang like glass from roof or stone, what am I, winter grown?

Born grey, but pink when you cook me. I'm kinda like a bug from the deep sea. Still, you eat me with glee. A small, scurrying water delicacy.

A lion, a puppy, a castle in the sky. I can be anything, serenely floating by. White, grey, sometimes painted pink. What am I, do you think?