Through valleys and over mountains I roam, Guiding through deserts and forests, through shadow and sun. Poets honor me in verse and in ode; Some run toward me with purpose; others, from where I lead do they run.

Do not kiss me, lick me or kick me. I cannot run, fly, or transform. My cousins can be quite colorful, but I am dull, and seen after storms.

A frozen wall I move at such a slow pace. Although, lately I seem to be losing the race.

I burn without wood, I travel without feet, I guide without speaking, Yet vanish when day greets. What am I?

I am like a rainbow, with wood instead of gold under me. If you wish to pet my fur I will bite but if you blow on me gently I will be subdued.