I’m green and crunchy, I grow in the ground. You eat me in salads, But I’m not a bean.

A heavy gray haze, Obstructing the dawn's bright hue. Of smoke and fog, I'm a portmanteau.

Bright as a blush in the morning sun, I hide my seeds where most have none. Sweet on the tongue, in gardens I grow. Name me, the berry with freckles in rows. What am I?

I go through phases, yet I always stay the same. What am I?

Horses are pointless. I'm a mythical white version, with a point.