Hark, thou humble orb that dost hold secrets untold, encased in alabaster, thou art life's own mold. From thee springs the dawn of myriad forms, a fragile fortress in which something small warms

I meet your enraptured gaze in sunless stillness, or maybe I never will at all. I fall from high places to burn up; for admirers, for adversaries. Isolated, or perhaps surrounded. What am I?

I wear no shoes but leave a track, the journey home is never long back. Slow and steady is my game, though racing’s in my fabled name. In rain I glide, in sun I hide, with horns that from my head do slide.

I am married, yet I remain alone. I am celestial but not sentient. I'm lighter than water, yet bigger than oceans.

I swim in cold waters with whiskers and zeal, But I’m also the last thing you add to a deal. I close up a note or swim through the sea, According to some, breaking me makes you pee.