Only one color, but not one size, Stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies. Present in sun, but not in rain, Doing no harm, and feeling no pain. What is it?
I am the reason you run, because I allow it. I am the reason you scream. I am the cause of all your pain. I am a cage from which you will never be free.
The cost of making only the maker knows,
Valueless if bought, but sometimes traded.
A poor man may give one as easily as a king.
When one is broken pain and deceit are assured.
What am I?
I have four of these, With matching extremities. They can do many things, And hardly ever bring me pain. Unless I stick them with a pin, Or burn them sometimes when... What is it that I can wiggle at will? And use in other means still?