Answer:
Voiceless it cries, Wingless flutters, Toothless bites, Mouthless mutters. What is it?
What comes once in a minute, twice in a moment, but never in a thousand years?
The sharp slim blade, that cuts the wind. What is it?
Three lives have I. Gentle enough to soothe the skin. Light enough to caress the sky. Hard enough to crack rocks.
Always wax, yet always wane: I melt, succumbed to the flame. Lighting darkness, with fate unblest, I soon devolve to shapeless mess.
If itβs information you seek, come and see me. If itβs pairs of letters you need, I have consecutively three. What am I?