I can swim in summer’s golden breeze, but I cannot live in winter’s freeze. People often spot me in June, where waters shimmer and rushes loom. .

Filled with meat that people eat Is it a soup? No one can say Fall from high, you may not die In it, many crafts lost their way

I remind you of a tool to cut wood, or the sound of a bug, but I do not remind you of dancing, perhaps cutting a rug. People associate me with very small creatures you don’t wish to hug. .

Green whisperer in the crisper, a crunchy symphony in a stalk. It flavors soups and stuffings, and serves as a place where ant rest instead of walk.

Originally known for my love of the hunt, now my notoriety has gotten a shunt. No mention of the sting that I felt, for now I’m most known because of my belt.