From roof and branch I often grow, not from seed nor root below. Though hard as stone to sight and touch, a little warmth becomes too much.

The place where... I'll need this someday... goes to live. Not organized, but strangely useful. What am I?

I guard your wealth, but may lend you more for a price. I am found by flowing water, be careful I do not burst.

My sides are woven, not sewn shut, yet still I do my part. I gladly hold what others pick, before the feast can start.

A place at home where green ambitions take root, tended by patient hands until buried life rises.