Answer:
Always old, sometimes new. Never sad, sometimes blue. Never empty, sometimes full. Never pushes, always pulls.
Half-way up the hill, I see you at last, lying beneath me with your sounds and sights. A city in the twilight, dim and vast, with smoking roofs, soft bells, and gleaming lights.
In the forest, this blends in just right, but every December it is covered with lights. What is it?
Power enough to smash ships and crush roofs. Yet it still must fear the sun.
Iron on a mammal. Mammal on your feet.
If itβs information you seek, come and see me. If itβs pairs of letters you need, I have consecutively three. What am I?