Whether old Homer tippled wine or beer, Julep or cider, history is not clear; But plain it is-the bard, though want to roam, But for one liquid, never had left home. What is it?
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?
I am all that you see, yet I’m nothing at all, and from you, I will flee.
Formed of deception, I will twist your perception.
Wherever I'm rising, I warp the horizon.
What am I?
It could be delivered by mail, email, by hand, or even by pigeon.
It is sometimes short, sometimes lengthy, and with deep, profound, or simple feelings.
What is it?
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