I am not from the dinner table, Though I share its name and shape, My tines are long, my purpose humble, I toss the hay, I turn the earth, In fields of work, I prove my worth.

What a carrot is to a snowman.

I hold whole worlds within my bounds, Though not a single voice or sound. Remove my sides and I remain, A simple picture in a plane. I border art, I structure light, Keeping canvas safe and tight.

I hang from your roof when it's cold and wet; I look clean, but don't lick me.

Feathered friends in a grand old room, chirping tales of nature's bloom. their songs delight, in a house where wings take flight.