I'm tested constantly, always something fraying at the edges of me. I make the smallest of seeds become a towering tree, or I can turn a rushing river into a calm and steady stream. Without me, the sweetest fruits can never be.

I'm just a branch, with a magical PR team.

I am both a verb and noun. You will find me often in a backyard making baby back ribs. What am I?

Sitting idle, tired, and weary, I wait for sleep-exhausted, dreary. No matter what I do or try, rest evades, though I don’t know why. What is this state that keeps me late, yet wakes me early with the sun’s first face?

In English, but also in Math, 'Eleven plus two' Equals?