Remove my first letter, and I'll fuel the flame, Remove my next, she's not my blood but kin in name. Remove my third, I shine on high, Whole, I’m the ground where roots may lie.

Only one color, but not one size, stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies, present in sun, but not in rain, doing no harm, and feeling no pain.

if you have a windless august, what precious thing are you left with?

I fall with no wound, yet I bury the land, A fleeting dominion of bone-white command. I silence the forest, I soften the stone, But fade into nothing when warmth claims its throne. What am I?

Every living being needs it, yet it is often said to be for the dead Every living being experiences it, yet none are conscious for it Many living beings avoid it despite desiring it