I wield the sea with mighty grace, three sharp fingers, one strong face. In a god’s grip, I rule the tide, with every wave, the oceans glide. I’m not a utensil for food or feast, but in my hands, the storm’s unleashed.

I strut on the beach like I own the place, with stolen fries and no hint of grace. I’ll scream in your ear, then poop on your hat, but somehow you still feed me, what’s up with that?

I’m born when giants meet their end, yet even light can’t escape my bend. I warp both time and stretch out space, with singularity at my base. No surface have I, no solid face, but cross my edge and there’s no retrace.

I sleep on sand and sing with the sea, hold me close to hear whispers from me. I wear the ocean's coat of white, and host a spiral that’s snug, smooth and light.

I'm not a star, yet I shine bright, with borrowed beams of solar light. I grow an icy tail when I draw near, the Sun’s warm breath I almost fear. I visit from the outer dark, a fleeting guest, a glowing spark.