I am a sound, but have no voice. I happen in your mouth, by choice. To cleanse and fight, I'm the ultimate foil.

Rolled and stacked, I can be tall or short. Wear gloves to build me for wintertime sport. Coal and a carrot, a hat and scarf too, All these little things make me look cool.

I sit in a cave, aging to perfection, Dressed in cloth or wax for my protection. I can be sharp as a tack or smooth and mild, A favorite of mice, a man, and a child. From Somerset’s hills, my name was born, Now melted on burgers or shredded on corn. I’m gold or white, a savory treat, But I'm not a fruit, a veggie, or meat.

From milk I quietly make my start, yet finish many a baker’s art. Whipped to clouds or poured with care, I bring a richness people share.

A container for lovely flowers and bouquet