You must hold me, or I may slip Untie me, if I must be quick If I am loose, I will be bold I may be silver, sometimes gold

A painter of life with a gentle touch, where branches wear gowns of color, and whispers of spring sing without a voice.

I go in dry, come out wet, and the longer I’m in, the stronger I get. What am I?

It's nice to be important, But it's more important...

The hill where walking's dicey, or a book that's somewhat spicy.