I don't have scales, but a thick, smooth skin. I like swimming with your boat, on my face a big grin. I slice the waves with my back fin and jump out of the water with my kin.

I have a crest but no head, I have a bed but never sleep. I can travel thousands of miles, Yet I never take a single step. I can be made by a hand, a sound, or a stone, But I am nothing but energy moving alone. What am I?

An empty shell crumbles to dust, under a ghastly moon. What remains is barely there, a shadow of a cocoon...

Built to be a fortress but washed away at the end of the day

Red houses are red, White houses are white, But I'm not named after the color of my exterior. In fact, I don't have a color of my own.