I have many layers, many as a Russian doll I can make you cry, I'm round as a ball I love the spring, I can go around your fingers and be really crispy, If powdery, I season If your meat tastes well, I am the reason

Do you hear that soft sound? That’s the force of the planet working on me. It fazes me, but that’s meant to be. After all, how else can I do my duty, to count? When the top is vacant, simply turn me around.

In my flight I circle back, a wooden acrobat. Throw me away, yet I return, a lesson in life's twist and turn.

A candle does it, and so do overworked people-though only one involves a literal flame being extinguished. The first four say what a fire does, the last three are what you do to leave.

I’m round and small yet worth much more. I travel through hands and rest in stores. I have no voice, yet tales I tell, Of wishes made in wells I dwell.