Cows are where you’ll find me first, Then I’m served up on a dine. A cut of meat that sounds quite sweet, With a tender taste to enjoy to feast

I have a mouth but never speak, A body but no arms or feet. I hold treasures, secrets deep, And often go for a walk on a street.

An admittedly old school item, I'm dark as the night. My purpose is to leave a mark, which I can do with the thing that enables flight.

A house has it, but a garden doesn't. A pavilion is essentially only this, supported by poles. What word are we looking for?

I arrive in a bottle but vanish in a shower, I fight with dirt but don’t have power. I make your crown feel fresh and light, Then disappear without a fight. What am I?