You spit me out with your breath You burn me , adorn me , and make sheets of me Civilizations depend on me , for I am in all things living These are my many forms What is my true identity?

Plucked out of birds, I am now dipped in ink and used to write

Oh my goodness, in the garden's gentle embrace, a soft, silent sponge spreads snugly, sipping sunshine, sharing secrets softly with stones. It's nature's green carpet, oh how it clings to time!

I am a library with no shelves, a flock that never lands. I drink oceans, then wander weightless. I paint mountains with shadows, hide the sun, and speak in thunderless whispers. Touch me and I vanish; name me and I rain answers. I travel as a ceiling, yet have no floor. Born of breath. Always above.

In earth's embrace, I dig deep and true, A symbol of luck, in card games too, I carve the path where seeds go deep, When speaking plainly, call a me a me.