Answer:
Late afternoons I often bathe. I'll soak in water piping hot. My essence goes through. My see through clothes. Used up am I - I've gone to pot.
A serpent swam in a silver urn, A golden bird did in its mouth abide, The serpent drank the water, this in turn, Killed the serpent. Then the gold bird died.
Forward Iām heavy, but backwards Iām not.
The root tops the trunk on this backward thing, that grows in the winter and dies in the spring.
I move without wings, Between silken string, I leave as you find, My substance behind.
I run through hills. I veer around mountains. I leap over rivers. And crawl through the forests. Step out your door to find me.