In spring, I dangle like your favorite earring, soft as a kitten's whisper, my pollen lightly scattering.

I have no shape of my own to display, yet I can carve mountains and wash shores away.

I take things you are done with, And give them a brand-new start. I turn old paper, glass, and cans, And play a green-earth part. Though I look like a giant bin, I help the world stay clean.

I am born from nothing, yet I hunger endlessly. Feed me and I grow; starve me and I cease to be. I dance without music and roar without a tongue, And throughout the ages, countless songs of me were sung. I can warm the hands of a traveler lost beneath the night, Or turn a peaceful home into a frightening sight. I paint the darkness orange, gold, and red, While consuming everything beneath the path I tread. I have no bones, yet I can leap. I have no lungs, yet I breathe. I have no mouth, yet I devour. And when my feast is finished, only ashes remain.

I have no voice, yet I whisper through the trees. I have no hands, yet I can touch your face with ease. I travel without roads and wander without feet, Sometimes gentle as a sigh, sometimes fierce with heat. I can bend the grass and make the tallest branches sway, I can carry distant scents from miles away. You cannot see me coming, yet you know when I arrive, And though I have no body, I make the world come alive. I can fill a sail and send a vessel far from shore, Or howl around your window when the storm begins to roar. I pass through every kingdom without asking to enter, And leave no footprints behind wherever I venture.