In chaos lies the dance of time's decay, Where order flees, and realms do fade away. Unseen force, dost weave the threads of fate, Where all doth tend towards the disarrayed state.

You might be considered this if you lacked in height, Though man down under would want to make a flame-grilled delight.

I’m something you ask for before you enter, A polite little something so no one’s offended. You wait for a yes before carrying on.. But I’m orange, I’m sweet, and I grow on a farm. What am I?

I might be in a link Sometimes you find me in the mail But pair meg up with a saw And things fall apart.

In summer's sway, with a rind so thick, inside lies the sun's juicy trick. Green or yellow, sweet and round, a picnic's joy can be found.