I am a ghost that clings to stones, a whisper born from breaking bones. The sky must bleed to call me near, yet I am gone before I’m clear. I do not live, I do not die, I only breathe when earth will cry.

I sometimes disappear, though I am always around. I am a reflection of what I seem to be. I grow bigger or smaller, but stay the same size. Some say I can affect delivery.

I hang by the neck beside a throne, wear coats of white in tidy rows. I split with sighs along my bones, serve, then vanish where water goes. What am I?

In my first form, I am the way. Shift my lead to the end, I become a shell. Shift my lead to the end once more, and I'm the prelude to life. What am I?

Harm will befall you if your use is too rough, will also befall you if not used enough. Pearly white, or yellow or brown, if you use me enough you will not need a crown.