Powered by the swirling air, my arms spin slowly upon my face. Their motion makes my gut churn, And in turn, people use that to crush.

This’ll be wild. This’ll be milk. This’ll be prickled. This’ll seed, like silk. This’ll be Scottish. This’ll be a bee stop. This’ll feed finches. This’ll purple-pink top.

I have a hard shield and I can never part with it. If it breaks I might die. When I’m spooked I use it to hide.

I travel faster than sound, but acoustics are not as profound. If you blink for a moment you might think i've gone, but worry not, I'll be back by dawn.

Beastly leviathan from thunderous waves, crashing and thrashing sends men to their graves. Through day into night the lurid white whale writhes and contorts to no avail. By grit and resolve the monster is slain, but what kind of rod was thrown again?