A thousand colored folds stretch toward the sky,
Atop a tender strand,
Rising from the land,
‘Til killed by maiden’s hand,
Perhaps a token of love, perhaps to say goodbye.
What am I?
A thousand colored folds stretch toward the sky,
Atop a tender strand,
Rising from the land,
'Til killed by maiden's hand.
Perhaps, as a token of love.
Perhaps, to say goodbye.
What is it?
It's small but larger than a bee,
And agile as a flea.
It hums but does not buzz,
And it's not covered with fuzz.
It is a small collector
Or juicy flower nectar,
What is it?
This was Gollum's final riddle from The Hobbit:
"This thing all things devours;
Bird, beasts, trees, flowers;
Gnaws iron, bites steel;
Grinds hard stones to meal;
Slay king, ruins town,
and beats a mountain down."