I’m made of stones, but I’m not a wall, I cover the ground where footsteps fall. Old roads love me, piece by piece. What am I?

I have no voice, yet I tell a story. I have no heartbeat, yet I rest upon your skin. I can be born from fire, forged from time, or pulled from the dark depths of the sea. Kings have fought for me, and lovers exchange me to make a promise.

I’m a little slice of sunshine green, With a tangy twist hiding beneath. I wear a crumbly golden floor, And a creamy cloud is what I’m for. Sweet meets sour in every bite, A tiny taste of tropical delight! What am I?

I have four legs I give you rest But cannot walk For the weary, best On their last dregs

I curl like a golden moon, With flaky layers tucked in tune. Born for breakfast, light and sweet, With buttery folds from top to feet. Peel my layers, one by one, A crescent treat for everyone! What am I?