I grow on trees beneath the sun, and end up in your martini when the day is done.

Happy birthday to you, sings everyone in the room. Someone hands you a knife, now you know what to do.

My kingdom is measured in inches, not miles.

I witnessed dinosaurs come and go, I was liquid before I was solid, Mountains are just piles of me, Yet I fit in your palm so small. What am I?

Wears a tight cap and leaves a bold trace, But lose the lid, it dries up in disgrace