In the land of zest and tang, where green wears its brightest hue, a citrus sprite dances on your tongue, making the sour feel brand new.

Soft breath, secrets told, Fleeting sound, then it's gone, Silence is its tomb.

I speak without words and glide without wings, I leap through the air with graceful spins. Satin on my feet, a stage bathed in light, I tell silent stories throughout the night.

I am a dark shape against the light, with no fine features shown in sight. Not the shadow cast at your feet, just your outline, dark and neat.

You’ll find two versions of me in your bathroom; one you’ll use and one you’ll want to get rid of. You may find me useful in your kitchen, and I’m often held by a blindfold-wearing statue.