I shed my flame when the wood grows old, A tiny spark in the winter's cold. I do not breathe, yet I glow and fade, A quiet ghost in the ash I've made.

I'm not a blanket, yet I cover the ground; a crystal from heaven, yet I don't make a sound. What am I?

I wear a coat of velvet red, With thousands sleeping in my bed. A sea of beauty, bright and bold, Yet dangerous for hands to hold. I hide a thousand wicked spears, And drink the morning's dewy tears. Romance is born where I am grown, But watch your step, or bleed alone.

I'm a monkey's favourite berry, Though most just call me fruit, I'm amazing in a smoothie, And make tremendous bread to boot

Beneath your feet I wind and weave, through quiet earth and fallen leaves. Though few may see the paths I bore, the earth grows richer than before.