Woeful me, Due to the pit I hold, My body is soft, and often sold, I fall to the ground, It bruises my round. Georgia is where I am knowingly found.

You may not always see me, but I can be refreshing or freezing

A noise annoys, In child's grasp, Slithering danger, A deathly gasp.

I’m a sound born of water and heat, The song of the grill or the street. I start with a hiss, A hot, burning kiss, Whenever the cold and fire meet.

Hidden in the depths, born from an irritant's grace; a moonlit orb, treasured in the ocean's embrace.