I sound like I should go in your salad however I am attached to buildings to help grow ornamental shrubbery. I'm used to hide and screen things but a beauty to look at.

One meaning grips when danger’s near, in hands that grow tense with sudden fear. Another rests beneath a hen, where tiny lives will hatch again.

Inside a desert so large, are those plants and surface water that I see? And it's not a mirage? Here I thought my eyes are playing tricks on me!

I hang in doorways, yet I never knock. I'm kissed for, not with; a living paradox. Green when the world goes bare, I cling to height, A parasite that somehow feels like light. What am I?

I’ve got hips that sway And a trumpet in my trunk Don’t care what you say Best get out my way