In yawning mouth that never bites are many pointed fangs Irregular in placement, some below, but me? I hang. I dribble spittle from above, like ravenous carnivore A rumbling from deep below may crash me to the floor

I roam where moonlight paints the trees, A silver shadow on the breeze. I howl a song the night can hear, Yet vanish when the dawn draws near. I run with kin, both wild and free, With golden eyes that watch silently. What am I?

Stands out on the farm, Keeping horses and friends Safe from winter and harm.

I’m a home with no tenant, washed up on the shore, once I sheltered a creature, but not anymore.

I cling to corners, dark and high, A fragile trap where shadows lie. I spin a home, but build no door, And catch what flies, but walks no more. A touch will break my dusty thread, Left behind when the hunter's fled.