Begotten, and born, and dying with noise,
The terror of women, and pleasure of boys,
Like the fiction of poets concerning the wind,
I'm chiefly unruly, when strongest confined.
I saw a strange creature,
Long, hard, and straight,
Thrusting in a round, dark, opening,
Preparing to discharge its load of lives,
Puffing and squealing noises accompanied it,
Then a final screech as it slowed and stopped.
I work hard most every day, Not much time to dance and play,
If I could reach what I desire, all like me would now retire.
What am I?
Select a pack of riddles and try to solve it in an interesting way.
This riddle appears in the following downloadable PDF files: