I am the final breath of a roaring fire A grey, soft ghost that cannot tire I am light enough to fly on the wind Yet I mark the place where the tree has sinned I am both the end of the flame And a tall strong wood that shares my name

In a knitting basket, soft and warm, A gentle hug on a chilly morn. From sheep's coat, it takes its form, Keeping you cozy through the storm.

I go in dry, come out wet, and the longer I’m in, the stronger I get. What am I?

Stalwart giant, reaching high, rooted strong in earth, you scrape the sky. From your lofty perch, horizons unfold, tales of height and strength are told , someone was held captive by me for years in a fairytale.

I coil at rest beside the wall, yet roar to life when duty calls. I bring relief through spray or stream, to thirsty roots or fiery scenes.