I have no legs, but I can fly on snow. I carry joy and sometimes a painful blow. Pulled by hand or gravity's flow.

A simple thing to store your thoughts, pen and pages, as easy as can be. Lines may hold what memory drops, kept for later when you need me.

I am the blade that sleeps in the dark, A sudden flash, a silent mark. Longer than a needle, shorter than a sword, I serve the assassin, the thief, and the lord. Cloaked in a sheath or hidden from sight, I steal through the shadows to settle the night.

I am a silent winter, trapped inside a frame, Keeping your treasures fresh, though I have no flame. I hum a quiet song, wearing a coat of white, And hide a chilly secret when you close me tight.

Of silver, crystal, gold, or glass, I watch the grandest banquets pass. Though made to hold a simple drink, I lend each feast a regal glint.