A couple, two of a kind, shoes, socks or scissors. A yellowish-green fruit with a big bottom. And the act of peeling that fruit with a knife.

What was the name of the Magician who lost his magic?

I send no letters to the trees, yet every bud appears. The birds return without a map, as though they’ve known for years.

I'm trod upon daily, yet you barely pay me heed. But, I think your feet will admit, I really am a need. Whether high up in the sky or just above the ground, be sure to sweep, mop, and keep me clean, as is the janitors creed.

There can be many colors on my head, Make it a swirl, frosting or with sprinkles instead, I'm always dressed to celebrate, Though I won't be around for long to wait, Peel my little jacket free, Then take a bite and savor me.