Hangs from a tree to give it style Then falls to the ground to be raked in a pile.

I hide where edges meet and wood is shaved ,A dip or groove, a pathway firmly paved. Take me away, and larger things will fit; Mark me in time, and I’m a moment lit .I never leave, yet absence is my space.

I have a clasp but no door, and adorn a neck but have no head.

I sit at this place to write this text, a place I work, study, or rest. Papers may gather, crumbs may stack, screens may glow, but my ideas are fostered, in mind and digital scroll.

Sparkle and shine, Shimmer and whine, These are what makes this time of year divine!