I fall from clouds in violent streaks, yet live in walls where silence speaks. Wild, I burn; controlled, I serve, the same force, bound and observed.

Sitting idle, ever weary, weaving and bobbing, all without training. I wait for food; it comes to me. My trap ensnares, then I feed. Hairy and scary, people don’t like me, but don’t kill me off, as I balance nature.

I’m a plant that’s purple and prickly to touch. I grow in fields and don’t like much fuss. Careful where you grab I’m sharp, not gentle.

Tender treasure, nestled in nature's embrace, a prickly protector with a pointy face.

The final command, in a line to the end. Stoked, it gains power And can be used to mend. A resourceful hawk species with a stick makes it friend. When spread, it’s a destructive and nutritional blend.