I keep you dry when the heavens cry, A colorful shield when the storm passes by. I have buttons or zippers, a hood for your head, But leave me behind when you head off to bed. I’m slicker than skin, and I swallow the drops, Then I hang in the closet as soon as it stops.

An age old question. What washes up on tiny beaches?

I can block your path, or I can keep others out. I usually reside next to fences or walls.

An unseen force, both still and slight, I draw some near without a fight. Yet matching poles refuse embrace, and push each other from their place.

I can live and die in a flash, but once I'm gone leave only ash.