Two or four step on the court, Chasing points in this fast sport. Over the net, the battle goes, With rackets swinging to and fro. What is it?

I trap what cannot be held, Bend time without a clock. I make summer out of whispers And silence out of frost. I’m seen straight through, yet change what’s true What am I?

I am designed to never lose balance, great for tiny paddlers to show their talents. I am a classic gift for littles ones turning three. What am I, that rolls along with extra stability?

Once done in dark caves, I now hang in halls of gold. I tell stories in pigment that never grow old. What am I, this beauty for the world to behold?

Mixed and kneaded, left to rest, I grow with air inside my chest. Then baked until my crust is made, a golden staple that won’t soon fade.