I wander slowly, but never leave home, through gardens and meadows I quietly roam. Take my head once, and I’ll hang things for you, take it once more and you’ll feel unwell, too.

I follow ships and whalers, Sleeping on the wing. Shoot me not, O sailors; Of seabirds, I am king.

I creep between the day and night, not dark, not gone, but dim of light. The shadows stretch, the voices hush, the world holds still in haunted hush. I’m when the sun begins to fall, but I am not the night at all.

I live in fairy tales and tapestries of old. My single, twisted spike is worth more than gold. I never leave a footprint, but my magic is real. To find me, you must possess what only few feel.

I am a small animal, with bite venomous. And while I may not kill you, it will pain enormous. I am known to be a menace, more than ten things you will hate. My ill-repute was sung by Shakespeare the great.