Cut off my head to see something to scale. Cut out my neck to make me much worse. With neither I'm in borrowed burrows through winter. Constant refilling is my miserable curse.

On the beach, I erase the day's damage and make all things new, In your laundry room, I do the same thing to your clothing, too.

Voiceless it cries, Wingless flutters, Toothless bites, Mouthless mutters.

My whole point is the point. Let’s not get tangled up in the semantics of my name. A rose is a rose by any other and by a rose I remain.

I am home to the harvest, the great golden boon. Or to nuclear missiles and millions doom. What am I?