I am a wheel that rolls upright, but I have no axle. I am the child of a wall that never stands, And the parent of a silence that terrifies. What am I?

I rest on the grass before morning is bright, Born from the clear and quiet night. I shine like tiny glass beads in the sun, But vanish away when the day has begun.

I start as stone beneath the ground, yet end up flat and thin. A roof may wear me overhead, or chalk may mark my skin.

I slide over snow but I have no wheels. You can sit on me and ride down a hill. What am I?

Most animals have them, we just have the bone, The kind of story that has never been shown.