A work of art or simple made, a lot of water shall be sprayed. Found in gardens or inside, the sound I make is a delight.

A sudden sound, a quick embrace, Ends in a moment, leaves no trace. In a jiffy, it can break, A single motion's all it takes.

I have many bristles but no hair, I dance across the floor with flair. I gather what you’ve cast aside, With nowhere left for dust to hide. I can be a win in every game, Or a chimney's brush by name. What am I?

I’m soft when I’m hot. Hard when I’m cold. Taste better when I’m a little salty.

Not a tree, yet often mistaken, due to my sudden spurts. Six of seven continents host me, Antarctica the lone exception. Durable, yet flexible, unlike hemp, I am widely legal, but cut on me, oil me, or beware.