To put something on is the word at my start To lock what's unlocked is second part's art Together four-legged creature they form One without wings, talons, venom, and horn

I wear a coat I never chose, My fingers stretch where no wind blows. I drink with feet, yet never roam, And hold my breath through winter’s dome. I count the years in silent rings, And cradle nests and whispered things. What am I?

I pull without hands, hold oceans in place, bind stars in silent dance, and keep you tethered to the ground.

I never spoil, though ages pass me by. Made without hands, yet crafted with care. I come from flowers, but I’m not a bloom, and once I’m taken, the makers must work twice as hard.

A traveler diverging from a wooden spine, reaching out toward the sky, sometimes home to a chirping choir, yet always connected to the heart of a towering elder.