We’re very large though we seem small,
We float on high and never fall,
We shine like jewels in the night,
But in the day concealed from sight.
What are we?
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?
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?
My first letter is in cloud, but never in sky.
The second is in roll but not in lie,
My third letter is in water but not in trees.
My whole makes you milk, kefir, and cheese.
What am I?
It goes up, but at the same time goes down. Up toward the sky, and down toward the ground. It's present tense and past tense too, come for a ride, just me and you. What is it?
My first letter is in follow but not in lead, and the second is in write but not in read.
My third letter is in sky but not in cloud, my fourth is in humble but not in proud.
My all makes circles in a bowl, or lies on a plate cooked up whole.
What am I?
A horrid monster hides from the day,
With many legs and many eyes.
With silver chains it catches prey,
And eats it all before it dies.
Yet in every cottage does it stay,
And every castle ‘neath the sky.
What is it?