In tears I hide, in seas I sleep, on winter roads I’m scattered deep. I season suppers grain by grain, a humble crystal with broad domain.

I stand in a line with others like me, holding your garments so neatly and free. I wait in the dark of a wooden hidaway, for you to to pick your outfit of the day.

In the land of zest and tang, where green wears its brightest hue, a citrus sprite dances on your tongue, making the sour feel brand new.

Ten of me make a dollar dance, small and round, in pockets I prance. With a touch of silver, I gleam, worth less than my shine may seem.

Soft breath, secrets told, Fleeting sound, then it's gone, Silence is its tomb.