I'm an aviary type and yes my bones are hollow. At least my name carries no innuendo, like that little weirdo swallow.

I fit in sockets, and brighten the space, I sprout, then grow, then flower in place. A four-letter word, one few stop to think, Yet I live in the soil, and glow in a blink.

How much wood would two woodchucks chuck if they agreed they both would chuck wood?

Born from tears of the sky and sun's laughter, I paint arches in the air, a fleeting bridge of colors you can't walk on. Catch me if you dare, but I'll vanish like a dream upon waking.

I wax often, despite no threat of hair. I also become blue, though that is rare.