For thousands of years,
Seen only in tale.
The wind as a sail,
For one thunderous gale.
Shiny stores rich in lore,
The burning temper, like Earth's core.
What am I?
With pointed fangs I sit and wait; with piercing force I crunch out fate; grabbing victims, proclaiming might; physically joining with a single bite. What am I?
I am the black child of a white father, a wingless bird, flying even to the clouds of heaven. I give birth to tears of mourning in pupils that meet me, even though there is no cause for grief, and at once on my birth I am dissolved into air. What am I?