I'm soft without being liquid, light without being bright. I gather in corners and cling to your sweater. Clouds are compared to me, and I'm left after dandelions take flight.

An armored tank of a megafauna, one of five species, all odd toed ungulates. Although their horn might gore you, they are unlikely to eat you, unless your family tree contains actual trees.

What fruit is not fuzzy and breathes fire?

Born of winter and mothers’ dread, I pace the borders of the living and dead. Grandmothers warn me in candlelit rooms, Saints mark my shadow, the moon marks my wounds. I wear many names but one true skin, A prayer before sleep keeps my teeth from your kin.

My points are fixed, and yet you find me in constant motion, I wheel and spin in an endless dance, As awe inspiring as your oceans. A teller of time, a spinner of fates, I'll guide you home, or define your traits. By the time you see me, I am years ahead, I gift you gold after my soul has fled.