I do not breathe, but I run and jump.
I do not eat, but I swim and stretch.
I do not drink, but I sleep and stand.
I do not think, but I grow and play.
I do not see, but you see me every day.
What am I?
On my way to St. Ives,
I met a man with seven wives.
Each wife had seven sacks,
Each sack had seven cats,
Each cat had seven kits.
Kits, cats, sacks, wives,
How many were going to St. Ives?
I dig out tiny caves, and store gold and silver in them.
I also build bridges of silver and make crowns of gold.
They are the smallest you could imagine.
Sooner or later everybody needs my help,
yet many people are afraid to let me help them.
Who am I?
I make you weak at the worst of all times.
I keep you safe, I keep you fine.
I make your hands sweat, and your heart grow cold,
I visit the weak, but seldom the bold.
What am I?
As beautiful as the setting sun,
As delicate as the morning dew;
An angel’s dusting from the stars
that can turn the Earth into
A frosted moon.
What am I?
Inside me the adventurous find
Quests and treasures of every kind.
Trolls, goblins, orcs, and more, await
Within my closed walls for
All those that wish to visit me.
Your hands are the key
To secrets untold,
And your mind will unlock the door.
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 a token of love, perhaps to say goodbye.
What am I?
Of no use to one
Yet absolute bliss to two.
The small boy gets it for nothing.
The young man has to lie for it.
The old man has to buy it.
The baby’s right,
The lover’s privilege,
The hypocrite’s mask.
To the young girl, faith;
To the married woman, hope;
To the old maid, charity.
What am I?
We are very little creatures; all of us have different features. One of us in glass is set; one of us you’ll find in jet. Another you may see in tin, and a fourth is boxed within. If the fifth you should pursue, it can never fly from you.
What are we?
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?
With thieves, I consort,
With the vilest, in short,
I’m quite at ease in depravity;
Yet all divines use me,
And savants can’t lose me,
For I am the center of gravity.
Who am I?
It’s true I bring serenity,
And hang around the stars
But yet I live in misery;
You’ll find me behind bars
With thieves and villains I consort
In prison I’ll be found
But I would never go to court,
Unless there’s more than one
Every dawn begins with me
At dusk I’ll be the first you see
And daybreak couldn’t come without
What midday centers all about
Daises grow from me, I’m told
And when I come, I end all cold
But in the sun I won’t be found
Yet still, each day I’ll be around.
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