I am the beginning, the start. Fire on the horizon, or a pink blush. You may bask in my beauty if you get up early enough.

Golden chariot riding the sky, herald of dawn's chorus, its warmth a gentle caress, yet too close, a fiery embrace.

I travel light yet leave no trail, A secret prize lies at my veil. I stand for love in many hues, Yet slip away when you pursue

A carpenter, I call myself, An artist dressed in plume. The trees call me to aid their health; The insects call me doom.

I am an anagram of an organ inside your body. Without me, you would be dead. Every time you watch a factory produce smoke, I die a little on the inside.