Common in ladies, almost never in males, distinct inkblot spots, patchwork, head to coat-tails. Internationally lucky and beloved by lots, Don't call creature's name, But the paint-job of blots!

I am both worn by a tree, and a symbol of royalty. Even a coin can describe me. What am I?

Its bells don't ring; they shine red, green, and yellow Tiny black seeds that season your meal, Or thin, red, or green when you need some heat

From regal crowns, I proudly sprout, In forest halls, where creatures rout. A branching peak on nature's throne, Majestic horns of bone alone.

A sea of red, when all is dead, From broken ground I rise. A cure for pain, a sweet sedative strain, Or cloud your mind and blur your eyes.