I am green and soft under your feet. You can find me in parks and gardens. What am I?

I guard my queen with venom and nerve,a tiny architect born to serve.Lifting fifty times my weight through the yard,I tunnel deep or stand as a guard.While thousands of sisters nurse or forage in shifts,I rest until my might is needed for more lifts.

I'm black as night, but bring the light. I'm deep in the earth, a hidden might. Men dig for me, for power and heat, but break their backs in this dark retreat. What am I?

I carve white branches through the dark, a fleeting, brilliant, burning mark. Though gone before the eye can rest, I leave the storm to tell the rest.

I stand in a waiting stack of brown and grain, A quiet stash for warmth through cold and rain. Split and gathered, I rest in a heap, Held for the fire that will wake from sleep. I am not a forest, though I come from the trees, I am not a flame, but I feed it with ease. What am I, so tidy and dry in my role, A collected reserve that can warm the whole