I’m poured into mugs when the morning is new, some drink me black, others lighten my hue.

Round and round the lifeless horses ride, Stopping and starting and stopping again, Is how their time is bide. The laughs, the tears, and everything in between, Here you can make memories, Here, your dreams can be seen.

Two fingers collide and then they slide, across one another. What's the sound?

I’m small and sleek, with a twist or bend, I tame loose strands and help them mend. I hide in curls, yet I’m not a curl, I keep hair tidy with one little twirl. What am I?

I may look like I’m flying free, but someone always has me on a leash.