I am beautiful, up in the sky.
I am magical, yet I cannot fly.
To people I bring luck, to some people, riches.
The boy at my end does whatever he wishes.
What am I?

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You saw me where I could not be.
Yet, often you see me.
What am I?

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Reaching stiffly for the sky, I bare my fingers when its cold.
In warmth I wear an emerald glove and in between I dress in gold.

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His eyes were raging, that scraggly beast.
His lips were bursting, with rows of angry teeth.
Upon his back a razor was found.
It was a fearsome battle we fought,
my life – or his, one would be bought.
And when we were through,
and death chilled the air,
we cut out his heart, and ate it with flair.

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I am the fountain from which no one can drink.
For many I am considered a necessary link.
Like gold to all I am sought for,
but my continued death brings wealth for all to want more.

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I am good at concealing what's real and hide what's true.
Sometime, I bring out the courage in you!
What am I?

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Strip the skin under my skin, and my flesh you'll reveal.
It tastes sweet and tart, now throw out the peel.
What is it?

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They try to beat me, they try in vain.
And when I win, I end the pain.

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A precious stone, as clear as diamond.
Seek it out while the sun's near the horizon.
Though you can walk on water with its power,
try to keep it, and it'll vanish in an hour.

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They made me a mouth, but didn't give me breath.
Water gives me life, but the sun brings me death.

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It cannot be seen, it cannot be felt,
Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt,
Lies behind stars and under hills,
and empty holes it fills.
Comes first follows after,
Ends life kills laughter.

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It stands upright and can be quite grand.
Its secret is not hidden but right at hand.
What is it?

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I am the third from a sparkle bright,
I thrive throughout the day and night.
Deep in the path of a cows white drink.
I've had thousands of millions of years to think.
But one of my creatures is killing me.
And so the question I ask to thee,
is who am I?

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This mother comes from a family of eight,
Supports her children in spite of their weight,
Turns around without being called,
Has held you since the time you crawled.

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I can generate fear
and some say I come out of your ears.
I am as quiet as a mouse
but not welcomed in the house. What am I?

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By Moon or by Sun, I shall be found.
Yet I am undone, if there's no light around.

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I can be quick and then I'm deadly,
I am a rock, shell and bone medley.
If I was made into a man, I'd make people dream,
I gather in my millions By ocean, sea and stream.

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My first, though water, cures no thirst,
My next alone has soul,
And when he lives upon my first,
He then is called my whole.

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My first is high,
My second damp,
My whole a tie,
A writer's cramp.

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I fly to any foreign parts,
assisted by my spreading wings.
My body holds an hundred hearts,
Nay, I will tell you stranger things when I am not in haste I ride,
and then I mend my pace anon.
I issue fire from my side.
You witty youths, this riddle con.

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This thing all things devours,
Birds, beasts, trees, and flowers.
Gnaws iron bites steel,
Grinds hard stones to meal,
Slays king, ruins town,
And beats high mountain down.

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My first is in window but not in pane.
My second's in road but not in lane.
My third is in oval but not in round.
My fourth is in hearing but not in sound.
My whole is known as a sign of peace.
And from noah's ark won quick release.

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In a tree you'll find me moving slow as can be.
My name is a sin but from them I am free.
What am I?

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Thirty men and ladies two,
gathered for a festive do;
Dressed quite formal, black and white;
soon movement turned to nasty fight.

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It's small but larger than a bee,
And agile as a flea.
It humms but does not buzz,
And it's not covered with fuzz.
It is a small collector,
Of juicy flower nectar.

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Of these things I have two.
One for me and one for you.
And when you ask about the price,
I simply smile and nod twice.

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When it shines, its light is hazy.
Makes the oceans swell like crazy.
It makes moods seem more romantic,
But it makes the ladies frantic.

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I march before armies, a thousand salute me.
My fall can bring victory, but no one would shoot me.
The wind is my lover, one-legged am I.
Name me and see me at home in the sky.

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A prickly house a little host contains;
The pointed weapons keep back from pains,
So he, unarmed, safe in his fort remains.

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A warrior amongst the flowers, he bears a thrusting sword.
He uses it whenever he must, to defend his golden hoard.

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It floats over the land,
It cuts the tallest mountain,
Its voice is like a fountain,
Its body like a snake,
Will flow into a lake.

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Man of old, it is told would search until he tired,
not for gold, ne'er be sold, but what sought he was fire.
Man today, thou mayst say, has quite another aim,
in places deep, he did seek, to find me for his gain!

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I am small, but, when entire,
of force to set a town on fire;
Let but one letter disappear,
I then can hold a herd of deer;
Take one more off, and then you'll find
I once contained all human kind.

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My children are near and far.
No matter that I know where they are.
The gift I give them make their day.
But if I were gone they would wander away.

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Agile on my feet, I drive dogs mad.
I flick my tail when I'm angry and hum when I'm glad.
What am I?

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Used to wield power and glory, yet results were rather gorey,
When it wrote our human story.
In the eyes of wiser men, it is weaker than a pen.

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They can be long or short;
they can be grown or bought;
they can be painted or left bare;
they can be round or square.

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A necessity to some, a treasure to many,
I'm best enjoyed among pleasant company.
Some like me hot, some like me cold.
Some prefer mild, some like me bold.
What am I?

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I have an eye but cannot see,
You'll head inside when you see me.

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My first is in ocean but never in sea.
My second's in wasp but never in bee.
My third is in glider and also in flight.
My whole is a creature that comes out at night.

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So beautiful and cold,
So young and yet so old,
Alive but always dead,
Still hungry when has fed,
Will die if it is bled,
Or you cut off its head.

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I have palms but not on hands,
I offer foods from distant lands,
When at my peak you'll see me smoke,
I'm famous for my friendly folk,
My flowers grow and yet they lay,
There's fire where a man will play.
What am I?

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They keep secrets locked away.
And you pass through them each day.
For each one there is a key,
They respond to sesame.

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It starts at the earth's end and brink,
Filled with water you can't drink.
Has a color, just like ink,
Walk into it and you'll sink.

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They belong to me; they belong to you;
They can make you feel happy or make you feel blue;
They never end until the day you do.

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We are little airy creatures,
all of different voice and features,
one of us in glass is set.
One of us you'll find in jet.
Another you may see in tin.
And the fourth a box within.
If the fifth you should pursue,
it can never fly from you.
What are we?

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I have a little sister, they call her Peep, Peep;
She wades the waters deep, deep, deep;
She climbs the mountains high, high, high;
Poor little creature she has but one eye.

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An utensil used for bread.
Also a paper cutter.
Used by a thug to take a life,
Or wielded by the tamest wife,
When used to spread the butter.

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I am killer of trees but people need me.
I can be blown away by a breeze
and I have been here since ancient Greece.
What am I?

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A hundred years I once did live,
and often wholesome food did give,
yet all that time I ne'er did roam,
so much as a half a mile from my home,
my days were spent devoid of strife,
until at last I lost my life.
And since my death – I pray give ear,
I oft have traveled far and near.

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It gets passed among men and builds without growing.
It serves to injure from a source unknowing.
What is it?

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Six legs, two heads,
Two hands, one long nose.
Yet he uses only four legs
Wherever he goes.

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I have legs but seldom walk;
I backbite many but never talk;
I seek places that can hide me
because those that feed me cannot abide me.

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This has no beginning, middle or end,
and all the greatest thinkers see it but can't comprehend.
What is it?

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Halo of water, tongue of wood.
Skin of stone, long I've stood.
My fingers short reach to the sky.
Inside my heart men live and die.

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They make no sense at all,
In them you either fly or fall.
They make you do it all.
Their need is biologic,
but they are most illogic.
They are not real but still can be achieved,
If they are just believed.

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It holds most knowledge that has ever been said.
But is not the brain, is not the head.
To feathers and their masters, it's both bane and boon.
One empty, and one full.

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At the end of my yard there is a vat,
four-and-twenty ladies dancing in that;
Some in green gowns, and some with blue hat;
He is a wise man who can tell me that.

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I'm tall in the morning and short in the noon.
I disappear at night but I will be back soon.

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I lack much reason, but often rhyme,
And require logic to pass the time,
To get the words to tell your kin,
Look for clues that lie within,
Though all are different, they act the same,
The answer is practically in the name.

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As soft as silk, as white as milk,
as bitter as gall, a thick green wall,
and a green coat covers me all.

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My first is second in line;
I send shivers up your spine;
not quite shining bright
I glitter in the light.

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Silently I drink and dive in fluids dark as night.
I beat the mighty warrior but never in fight.
The black blood in my veins your thirst for knowledge slakes.
My spittle is more venomous than that of poison snakes.

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It was a tradition long ago,
When the world was dark and full of woe.
When men turned darkness into light,
By mixing, melting and decanting in the night,
To seek for youth and gold and riches,
Just to be burned as witches.

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I can fill a room but take up no space.
Look out at night, and I am in no place.
What am I?

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Small, containing light,
You'll need it in the dark,
It will provide that spark,
and shine into the night.
Will light up any pyre,
'Cause it can help make a fire.

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When liquid splashes me, none seeps through.
When I am moved a lot, liquid I spew.
When I am hit, color I change.
And color, I come in quite a range.
What I cover is very complex,
And I am very easy to flex.

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You use this to clean although it is small.
If you forget it, your smile will appall.
What is it?

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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.
Daisies grow from me, I'm told.
And when I come, I end all code,
but in the sun I won't be found.
Yet still, each day I'll be around.

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Black within and red without,
With four corners round about.
What am I?

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A most delicious thing.
It can be given but cannot be kept.
Some awake from it after they've slept.
It is the moistest and softest butterfly wing,
But when it is the last even it can sting.

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I think you live beneath a roof that is upheld by me;
I think you seldom walk abroad, but my fair form you see;
I close you in on every side, you very dwelling pave,
and probably I'll go with you at last into the grave.

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I am found by the ocean and offer you a bed.
Whether you want me or not, to your house I am led?

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For me, much blood has been shed.
I have two faces but only bear one head.
What am I?

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Upon me you can tread, though softly under cover.
And I will take you places, that you have yet to discover.
I'm high, and I'm low, though flat in the middle.
And though a joy to the children, adults think of me little.

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Flat as a leaf, round as a ring. Has two eyes, can't see a thing.

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Violet, indigo, blue and green, yellow, orange and red;
these are the colors you have seen after the storm has fled.
What am I?

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My life is often a volume of grief,
your help is needed to turn a new leaf.
Stiff is my spine and my body is pale.
But I'm always ready to tell a tale.
What am I?

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He calls in the morning, the day to renew,
if his owner gets hungry, he'll be turned to stew.
What is he?

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Four wings I have, which swiftly mount on high,
on sturdy pinions, yet I never fly;
And though my body often moves around,
upon the self-same spot I'm always found,
and, like a mother, who breaks her infant's bread.
I chew for man before he can be fed.

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The land was white the seed was black.
It'll take a good scholar to riddle me that.

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Never alive but practically extinct.
How we miss the letters pressing the ribbon of ink.
What is it?

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You must keep this thing, its loss will affect your brothers.
For once yours is lost, it will soon be lost by others.
What is it?

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It gives everything and then takes it away,
It governs destinies and fates,
It changes and it never waits,
It rules the cards and dice each day,
Is part of any game we play.

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Sometimes it's silver but also gold.
Printed on paper it's a treasure to hold.
What is it?

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Sometimes it glitters, but often not;
May be cold, or may be hot!
Ever changing though the eye can't measure,
concealed within are many treasures.
Some find safety beneath its gate,
while some may die beneath its weight!
Old and broken, it brings forth life.

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It's in the church, but not in the steeple;
It's in the parson, but not in the people;
It's in the oyster, but not in the shell;
It's in the clapper, but not in the bell.

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Ancient and majestic, great big piles of stones,
Used to encase both riches and bones.
Seen from certain angles,
They look like big triangles.

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Hard to catch, easy to hold. Can't be seen, unless it's cold.

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Known as a great deceiver,
It is evil's incarnation,
Once used for veneration,
The root of all procreation.
All you can do is shiver,
When it begins to slither.

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Some try to hide, some try to cheat,
but time will show, we always will meet.
Try as you might, to guess my name,
I promise you'll know when you I do claim.

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It is by nature, soft as silk;
A puffy cloud, white as milk;
Snow tops this tropical crop;
The dirtiest part of a mop.

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My voice is tender, my waist is slender and I'm often invited to play.
Yet wherever I go, I must take my bow or else I have nothing to say.
What am I?

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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 century of gravity.

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In wealth I abound; in water I stand;
As a fencer I'm valued all over the land;
At Venice I'm famous; by farmers I'm prized;
Respected by law, yet huntsmen despised;
Consternation and ruin ensue when I break;
And the beasts of the forest advantage won't take.

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Plow and hoe, reap and sow,
What soon does every farmer grow?

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Though I do not speak, I oft impart
The secret wishes of the heart;
I may deceive, may make amends,
May create foes, and yet make friends.
The harshest anger I can disarm,
Such is the power of my charm.

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Written on with words of white,
Has the color of the night,
Is the teacher's best delight,
And a student's daily fright.

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In marble halls as white as milk,
lined with a skin as soft as silk.
Within a fountain crystal-clear.
A golden apple doth appear.
No doors there are to this stronghold,
yet thieves break in and steal the gold.

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I'm a slippery fish in a cloudy sea;
Neither hook nor spear will capture me;
With your hand you must hunt down this fish,
to see that it ends up in the dish.

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