Every time I'm told the Earth doesn't revolve around me, I shoot a burning look at thee.

I have many steps but cannot walk a mile, I lean against the wall and stay there for a while. What am I, that helps you reach places up high?

They say I’m shady, that’s not wrong, I’ve held my ground my whole life long. I’ll leave again, but never go, Ask my rings, they’ll let you know.

What goes blonde, to fluffy white, to bald in a season?

The quick whisper of scissors, a gentle break in the thread, this sound marks a new beginning or a sudden end.