I have wings and hunt with keen sight, or I am flown on a windy delight. One of me is living, fierce and free, the other is a toy that dances with glee.

I start with a flame, bright and bold, I shrink in my strength, though I still glow, What am I, as I fade slow?

Snip and tidy strands, Binds pages like old magic, Little grip of steel.

I brighten up a windowless room on a sunny day. No flick of a switch, or bulb needed in any way.

I am eaten without need of plant, nor plow. The product of a worker’s brow. I am left when tears are dry. Born from water, when I meet it, I die.