Not my real name.
This weird little man full of quirks
Lured in children by promising perks.
He showed them his place,
And let them stuff their face,
In an effort to weed out the jerks.
This little box carried your sound
While you rode or strolled or jogged around.
It was seen everywhere,
From L.A. to Times Square,
But these days it is quite seldom found.
I soar through the dark icy sky,
In search of your children I fly.
I creep into your house,
While you doze with your spouse,
And steal away when dawn draws nigh.
On a bridge in a circle is where
This Canadian sat in his chair.
He met friends and foes,
Went where nobody goes,
And hoped no one noticed his hair.
Unexpected, I get up to eat,
Though I stumble a bit on my feet.
If you don't see me,
You'll probably feed me,
And my manners are not very neat.
Some look for my namesake in spring,
And then listen and hope it will sing.
But they should know that
Taking swings with a bat
Is actually much more my thing.
I stand on a platform of wood.
Many sad men before me have stood.
When I pull my lever,
It's goodbye forever
To the fellow who wears the dark hood.
My story has often been told,
According to legend of old.
If you look in the air,
And you see a curve there,
You can follow it and get my gold.
It never seems so much could go wrong
When you take out this thin little oblong.
But then you get hooked in,
And before you can win,
Your money has all told you "so long!"
This brave alien gets into fights,
And changes the wrongs into rights.
That's his whole game.
If you don't know his name,
His initial is there on his tights.
The Riddlewot logo and promotional material remain property of riddlewot.com and should not be distributed or copied in any form. All other trademarks or trade names are the property of their respective owners. Image assets supplied by www.freepik.com and icons from www.game-icons.net, click here to see a full list of credits. All Rights Reserved © 2020 Riddlewot