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?
Used to threaten, used to defeat. Sometimes it grows, sometimes it shrinks. Used to conquer, used to protect. It marks your downfall, it marks your success. The true god of war, the creator of mess. What is it?
The shape of my form will waver and bend
By the things I’m destroying and those I will rend.
My color changes from bright red to blue,
The power I’m using will dictate my hue.
What am I?
When I'm lost, I hurt the most, as well as when not had at all. I’m often hard to express and easy to ignore. You can give me to just one person, or to many. What am I?
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?
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?