Stress my ending and I will leave without a care. Stress my beginning and nothing will grow.

In winter's hand, I grow and glide, A dance of white on a slippery slide. From gentle touch, I tumble and swell, A playful menace, cold as a bell.

The polite acai shook your hand and said It’s xxxxx nice to meet you. And then you ate him because he’s a yummy superfood. You monster.

The more you take, the more you leave behind. Louder in snow, quieter on stone. And when you hesitate, I multiply. What am I?

I hang where winter whispers low, A stolen kiss is what you owe. Not rooted deep in earth below, I cling to limbs where cold winds blow. Meet beneath me, yes or no? Speak my name, what am I? Go.