I roar without a mouth, I move without a limb. I tear down trees and topple seas, Yet I am never seen.

I write in white on fields of blue, I sketch a map the north winds drew. I melt at dawn, return at night I’m winter’s script in silver light.

From Ivory keys to birds in trees, With strings, or rings, or tambourines, In the shower you might breakout in me.

I have a trunk, but I do not have leaves. I am known for having a great memory.

I have a style, but I do not have a twin. I am often seen in a frozen friend.