Frets I have many, but worries are none. I’ve got a waist and a neck, but no belt or hat. Give a pluck and I can make you a star, Like BB and Carlos, Brittany, and Jack.

A mirror, made of varied hues But only those the makers choose A space designed to trap a muse And once its soul is captured there Imprisoned, hanging in the air Then people pay to come and stare What am I

Born in a flurry, I grow with a roll, Round and fluffy, and so fun to throw.

I’m small enough to fit in hands, yet big enough to spark new lands. I’m not a tool, but I get used, for joy, for calm, for being amused. I may be plush, or made of steel, I’m not alive yet I feel real.

The Olympics begin with one A match can spark it Blow on candles untill there's none A fire can't start until it's lit