I borrow my glow and spend it each night, A thief of the sun dressed softly in white. I pull at the seas without touching their skin, I wax and I wane as old clocks begin. Named yet unnamed, I vanish by noon. Look up when it’s dark, and you’ll know me soon.

I'm born of orchid, yet lack floral grace, A culinary friend, in time and space. Though plain I seem, my essence is grand, Lending depth to flavors, across the land. What am I?

I have no voice and no words of my own, so I borrow yours. I have no face, but need space to be heard Inside or outdoors

A knock at the door? Under the floor? Either way, it’s thumping so timely. When you’re scared you can hear it get faster, yet it’s still tuned so finely. To lose tempo is trouble. Metrono-more? make it double. It’s life’s way of keeping your timing. It be not the vessel, but whats heard when you’re nestled on the chest of who keeps you shining.

Sometimes I slice Other times I have eight strings But all times I shred What am I?