On a horse I’m found. I go clop, clop, clop As I dance on the ground. What am I?

In my locket, a sunny hue, a stone so warm, not red nor blue. A treasure that catches the eye, like golden leaves in the autumn sky.

Would’ve been useful for miasma, To chase the smells away. Many types of me there is, For cleaning, or shushing dogs, or Clearing the air after someone drops a log

A pair to frame the face I hang without a rope, Suspended in a place Where sound comes in to settle. Though I ring, I make no chime! Twin ornaments of vanity. What am I?

I’m the stone that holds the rest in place, Without me, the arch falls from grace. I’m the core on which ideas stand, The guiding principle that shapes a plan.