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.

Some kill some roll some give power some are musical They're everywhere

While the wind winds, From a tree I'm collected. One staves off the idea of going bigger, by arcane scholars I'm rarely neglected. The charlatan's is black and capped with white, tap tap Alakazam! Take the eyes of the third and fourth words, Make them A, you'll know what I am.