Answer:
It is by nature, soft as silk; A puffy cloud, white as milk; Snow tops this tropical crop; The dirtiest part of a mop
Soft and fragile is my skin, I get my growth in mud. I’m dangerous as much as pretty, for if not careful, I draw blood.
My first is an insect; my second is a border; my whole puts the face in a tuneful disorder.
If you happen to wear one of these warm garments around, you might get doused in red paint.
Mountains will crumble and temples will fall. And no man can survive its endless call.
What never gets any wetter no matter how hard it rains?