I fork from roots or split from plans, I stretch through forests, firms, and clans. Sometimes I leaf, sometimes I divide, what word am I that grows wide?

First four are for rear; add two more and I’m in sticks generally made from milk. Last three are an insect, something Leonardo da Vinci wanted to do, something Daniel Bernoulli described too. All together, I come from a cocoon, pretty and unique; some are monarchs of the sky.

When rain begins and skies turn gray, I keep the storm from spoiling your day.

I create milk but I am not a cow With a hard shell to protect myself And I look like a human head

In the depths where giants swoon, a spear of steel meets the moon. From ship to sea, its journey's soon, piercing waves with its pointed tune.