Up in the clouds Where giants are found You too can reach If you plant me in ground

I am the highest point of a wave's short life, A symbol of status in times of strife. I am found on a helmet, a hill, or a bird, A sign of a lineage, though I'm never heard.

I shimmer where your longing leads, A promise born of burning needs. I paint you gifts you cannot claim, A distant pool without a name. You chase me, though I never stay, I live in heat, then fade away.

My first four are two, double take, see you. My last four are the four at the end of the last sixth of the twelve. Call in dear, we’re in a pickle.

I have a bark but cannot bite, I am very small and light, Broken off by the wind, you’ll see, I'm a tiny piece of a tree