I’m tiny armor for a finger’s tip, I help push needles without a slip. In sewing rooms, I’m often found, Protecting fingers safe and sound. What am I?

There's a tiny round chap, keeps your coat snug in a little snap. With a gentle push or a pulling tug, it joins the fabric like a warm hug.

I stretch ahead, but never travel. I can be walked, crossed, or ruled. Some fear the end of me; others dream of it. And when cerulean becomes more than just blue, you’ve entered Miranda’s world. What am I?

A favorite of a squirrel In coffee cups, it swirls Grows on a tree A woody shell surrounds it, can't you see?

I wear a hundred heavy coats, Though I have no limbs to chill, I stand in rows upon the earth, And wait upon the hill.