I’m spun from sheep or spun from air, I warm your hands or fill a chair. I knit the truth, I twist the lie, I wrap a tale as time goes by. Pulled apart, I still return. What ties your fingers, story, and burn?

It cannot be seen, it cannot be felt, Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt, Lies behind stars and under hills, and empty holes it fills. Comes first follows after, Ends life kills laughter.

They say is virtue worth having and yet people dont have the time to provide this wonderful lesson

A boar without balls A garden tool that carries alls You probably know me as a word with a compounding name I too learned, learned something new with this game.

I hide beneath, yet feed the tall, Without me, life would surely fall. I drink in silence, never seen, I am the start of every green. What am I?