I run from heat that without I can’t be, the flightiest in my family of three. My siblings are cold and colder still; from heads full of anger I may spill. When gentle I comfort, my touch airy soft, but sprinting I’ll burn you, and then I’ll be off.

I wear a crown of storms that never sleep, my bands of colors swirl crimson deep. So many worlds within my sway, yet no solid ground beneath the fray.

I am a belt that holds a vast, blue gown. You cannot buckle me up or down. Ships cross my line, but I am never wet.

Speak my name, and I appear. A stoic tone, a cry of fear. You'll never see me, but I am there. A ghostly hum in winter's air.

I make it easy to squirt in all the right places, but I am not made of flesh. You might see me in the backyard or garden .