I reach for the sky with a needle of stone, Born from a base, yet I stand all alone. Not quite a tower, but aiming up higher, A peak with a purpose, slim, sharp, and dire. Churches and castles wear me with pride - What am I called when I upwardly rise?

Sometimes I protect you, other times I fascinate. A shield as flimsy as cardboard. At a party or when you graduate, I sit with you, whether you're Abe Lincoln or Harrison Ford.

When Yule comes around people may bake one of me. On that note, I once existed as a lovely tree. However now I most frequently reside in a fiery pit, A sharp weapon is often used to make me split.

I'm soft without being liquid, light without being bright. I gather in corners and cling to your sweater. Clouds are compared to me, and I'm left after dandelions take flight.

I’m a curtain that opens and shuts without a sound, watching over the windows where the soul is found.