Above all others I proudly rise, the summit that brushes against the skies. I am the peak of all you pursue, the highest success that crowns what you do.

I speak without a mouth and hear with no ears. I have no body, but I come alive with wind. I disappear the moment you try to hold me? What am I?

I wear a sheepish grin, but my bark's a howl, for dinner plans, I cleverly prowl. What am I?

I never grow old and I never decay, I was even found where the pharaohs once lay. A term of endearment your sweetheart might say, made by small gatherers that work hard all day. I'm stored in waxy hexagons, perfectly aligned, a geometric treasure that’s one of a kind.

My ribs are carved from forest bone, my voice from equines tail. I wail when bows run through my hair, and hush when fingers fail.