Light and flaky, please just bake me, till golden brown, then go to town.

I cover windows to dim the day, or live where sight has gone away. I close things out or lack the view, I’m one word that makes these meanings true.

Shining, sturdy, sometimes brave; What I deal is byword for the grave.

I write with ink when plucked from sky, or rise as spikes when danger’s nigh. In gentle hand or bristled hide, a pen for words, or a shield of spines.

I’m easy to pick from the bunch If you want to eat me, you gotta get me naked first.