In yonder nook where embers glow, A homely heart with warmth to show; Gather round, my dear, with tales to share, For here the hearth's embrace is rare.

I creep through clouds without a sound, A giant ghost above the ground. I’m full of air, yet made to fly, What am I drifting through the sky?

It has the house surrounded And very well grounded Some made with sod, some from seed. All need time taken to weed.

In mirrors I reflect, in windows I frame, In cups I take shape, though always the same. Through me, the light will bend or pass, but handle me wrong, and I will not last.

I have a face but no eyes, and I have a pole but never go fishing. I can be captured without being chased, and I’m raised but have no voice. I’m full of holes but still hold the wind, and I’m always at the top when I’m at my best. What am I?