Porcelain fine or paper light, I hold your meal just right. Or,beneath the ground, I shift and break, causing lands to bend and shake.

I am surrounded by herbs and spices, but i reign supreme, but I do not have color except black, white, and pink. You might find me in spicy food, on a steak, or in a grinder.

I am related to margherita pizza, but I am not red or white. You might think fresh or dried when you think of me.

I am the steed you never tame, Galloping through your still frame. I leave no hoofprints, yet I stay, Haunting thoughts till break of day.

I grow in the garden, yet not on a tree, in a salad or sandwich, I’m often set free. I’m crushed or sliced, but not put in a sweet, I’m plump when I’m ready, savory, and neat.