I'm molded by hand, yet have no form. From earth I arise, through sun and storm. Pottery's my destiny, a vessel to be, Or sculpture's embrace, for all eyes to see. What am I?

What is made of wood but no saw on earth is sharp enough to cut?

A sacred stone both smooth and green, in ancient courts and temples I am seen.

I'm a professional sleeper with a very specific schedule. I’m the first thing you want to see after a long shift. I’m the only suit that encourages you to do absolutely nothing. What am I?

Heads, shoulders, knees, and toes, a song that shows where body parts go. Something is missing, it sits in the middle, extremities join to it, held firm and stable.