Born of the day, I burn at night No fire feeds me, still I glow My maker hunts me into flight At dawn I end; at dusk I show My maker and my killer are one I am the dawn that hates the sun

You may be most familiar with the larger version of me, But I can assure you, that I can also be goat-like when seen With my mounted spear and cloven hooves, I delicately pick my way through the forest, My spear highly sought to cleanse and heal Fleet of foot, I flee from those no longer innocent in a sense I am beauty, I am grace, And leave practically no trace Do you know who I am?

I bloom with beauty, soft to see, yet hide sharp guards to shelter me. A lover’s gift, both sweet and wise, what am I with thorns in disguise?

I'm hard and black, tied to December. If I'm found in your stocking, you've probably been good.

I have keys but no locks. I have space but no room. You can enter, but you can’t go outside. What am I?