I sit on a plate, I’m sweet as can be, blow out my candles and make a big wish, see? But if you hear me talked about when you jiggle and shake, I might mean the part of your rear your momma helped to bake.

I take you by night, by day take you back. None suffer to have me, but do from my lack. What am I?

I stand on legs but never walk. I hold your thoughts, yet never talk. By day I work, by night I rest, Papers, screens, and hands I host. What am I?

In fairy tales, I help fetch the prize, a vessel for water beneath sunny skies. With handle held high, I sway side to side, a humble companion on country rides.

I live when you wonder and die when you know, I grow in the maybe and shrink in the so. I vanish when named, yet guide what you do. Half truth, half question, what am I to you?