Evolution in the flesh, Feathered friend of variation. Many beaks I’m known to have, Subject of pivotal observation.

I'm angry but not I'm not raging. I'm an intersection but I have no traffic lights. I'm a symbol of life for some, but I'm a tool of death. I'm the passing of a ball, but the ball contains no dancers.

I am tall and slim, often very high. Found throughout time, trying to touch the sky. Not out of place in a Lovecraftian tome. My top resembles an ancient tomb.

They may be small. They may be huge. They may be fast. They may be slow. Some are still here, flying around. Yet they have been here for millions of years. What are they?

We were here before gods, and we’ll outlast men. We carve the threads, but hold no pen. No drink, no blade, yet all must bend. The wolf, the spear, we saw their end. Even Allfather seeks what we have spun. We are three, yet we are one. What are we