Answer:
In the night a mountain, in the morning a meadow.
Whoever makes it, tells it not. Whoever takes it, knows it not. And whoever knows it wants it not
Always wax, yet always wane: I melt, succumbed to the flame. Lighting darkness, with fate unblest, I soon devolve to shapeless mess.
It's equally comfortable in an orchestra and a geometry textbook. What is it?
Die without me, never thank me. Walk right through me, never feel me. Always watching, never speaking. Always lurking, never seen.
If itβs information you seek, come and see me. If itβs pairs of letters you need, I have consecutively three. What am I?