I am the witch hidden in your lunch, and the floor of the sea. I help you see through windows, yet I am opaque. I tell the time without a single gear, But once I slip through your fingers, I disappear.

If opened chaos ensues, thus the many warnings and yet I still made do sickness, death and misery now appear where peace once lived

A head but no brain A mouth but can't speak I'm a catcher not a pitcher I'm always on the line but I'm not in the army

Jagged scraps of a whole, useless on their own. Only after much reflection is my picture shown.

Green on the outside, sweet red delight, summer's cool treasure, a picnic's highlight.