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.

I spray and leap and fall and swish Without ever moving, and may grant a wish! Penny for your thoughts: what am I?

Where do rainbows go after being arrested?