Grey giants of the land, they wear ivory crowns and parade with grace, trumpeting tales of ancient wisdom while their enormous shadows dance in the savannah sun.

My cradle is flame, my shroud is ash, yet from my end new wings I flash. No grave can hold me where I lie, what am I that cannot die?

I’m so excited bout this riddle that I’ve soiled myself

There once was a large prickly fellow, Who stood, arms up, in sand so yellow. 'I hold fresh water within, but protected by my spiney skin. So don't touch me or loudly you'll bellow.'

I have many layers but I’m not a tale, no tears like onions when I’m unveiled. Green and round, in gardens I grow, what am I you slice just so?