In the playground of balance, a wooden plank dances, as laughter lifts and falls, a cycle of ups and downs in rhythmic harmony.

I am a golden mountain, yet I have no rock, Born of the harvest, I am built for the stock. If you lose a tiny needle, you must search through me, But if you light a match, I turn to ashes instantly. What am I?

Take away my last, and you have to pay, Add a layer of skin and the letter T, and I bring false life into a carcass, I'm a contender for the most recognizable word in the world, the same or close in every language

I can be twisted or straight, but never confused. Always dressed up for dinner, never refused. Drop me in hot water and I change my attitude.

Velvet cloak unfurls, Thorns guard a sweet scented heart, Love's blush in the vase.