Lines connect into the art Many eyes watch over craft We can safely pick apart This very tiny fragile draft

I come from a land of ice and snow What am I, do you know? Dressed in a tuxedo Dive like a torpedo

I glide on winter’s silver skin, yet also haunt the ocean floor. One self is steel that sings on ice, the other spreads its wings to soar.

I'm a tiny worker and can carry fifty times my own weight. People generally don't appreciate me though, because sometimes their homes I invade.

I've got thorns on the outside and a heart of gold, with a scent so intense that it's famously bold. I am best described as a mix between custard and onions of doom. My aroma is so pungent, I'm forbidden in many a hotel room