With ease and comfort I trim your nails, on the hunt for trading goods I set the sails. The first, small and fine, the second, mighty by design.

Springing from the ground like a flower, I might imprison a royal power, Or simply tell you the hour. Fall off me and your outlook is dour.

What loses its head in the morning , but gets it back at night?

I can be curled with a blade but I have no hair. I can be satin or silk, but I’m not a dress. I’m the final touch on a present, yet I’m the first thing torn away. What am I?

Sought after by many, big bucks for the best. What you saw and see coming, heads straight for your chest. Out of this can come tools, or pendants for necks. On a rack like a towel, mounted to gain respect.