From woolly backs I’m gently shorn, to keep you cozy through the storm. Yet bear my name another way, and someone else may make you pay.

This musical instrument is too large and heavy to bring with you into the cabin of a flight... which is ironic, considering.

What do you call a snowman in the summer?

I arrive when noise is too much to bear, A soft little pause hanging quietly there. I am not silence, yet close in my way, A gentle command that asks voices to stay. I can calm a room with only my name, And turn all the chaos to stillness and tame. What am I, so subtle yet strong in my role, A whisper of peace that can quiet the whole?

I have no eyes, yet I have a pane. I have no ears, but they say I have ears. I can hold up a roof or divide two friends, yet I’m the first to get walked all over. What am I?