I'm made of nature, but I'm not alive. I'm flexible, and I can fly. I can be a swan or a butterfly. I can also come with colored lines.

Six it contains, first three: a place someone is a pain. But without the ‘K’ Same spot scarves hang their life away. Last trio is a hot mess, used to seal where your tires egress. A pit of it, famous for creature contents. Together, it’s the drink of the Gods and a flowers attracting glob. I guess you could call it a ‘glob send’

Like Castor and Pollux, Holding hands in Gemini; So do I too with my kin drifting by. But am I an other? No, simply not true! One letter changed, that will make do. For those still not sure of quite who I am, my favorite snack is a rock-smashed clam.

I belong to the sea, but I'm shaped like something that belongs to the night sky. The most famous of my kind is called Patrick.

Irish spirits, On the rocks, Or keen among the rye, One last call, Before ye fall, With red and puffy eyes