I look flat, but I am deep, Hidden realms I shelter. Lives I take, but food I offer. At times I am beautiful. I can be calm, angry and turbulent. I have no heart, but offer pleasure as well as death. No man can own me, yet I encompass what all men must have. What am I?
I repeat only the last word you say. The more I repeat, the softer I got. I cannot be seen but can be heard. What am I?
Everyone has it but no one can lose it. What am I?
I act like a cat, I look like a cat, Yet I am not a cat. What am I?
A very pretty thing am I, fluttering in the pale-blue sky. Delicate, fragile on the wing, indeed I am a pretty thing. What am I?
I run all around the pasture but never move. What am I?
I have keys but no locks. I have a space but no room. You can enter, but cannot go outside. What am I?
I go up when rain comes down. What am I?
I pass before the sun, yet make no shadow. What am I?
You pick it, You peel the outside, You cook the inside, You eat the outside, And throw away the inside. What am I?
My fleece is white as snow. Everywhere that Mary goes, I go. What am I?
Through me you see through things. What am I?