If you break me, I'll not stop working. If you can touch me, my work is done. If you lose me, you must find me with a ring soon after. What am I?
I can be long, or I can be short. I can be grown, and I can be bought. I can be painted, or left bare. I can be round, or square. What am I?
I have holes on the top and bottom. I have holes on my left and on my right. And I have holes in the middle, yet I still hold water. What am I?
The more you take, the more you leave behind. What are they?
What can travel all around the world without leaving its corner?
If you’ve got me, you want to share me; if you share me, you haven’t kept me. What am I?
What has six faces, but does not wear makeup, has twenty-one eyes, but cannot see? What is it?
My head bobs lazily in the sun. You think I'm cute, For my face is yellow, My hair is white, and my body is green. What am I?
I heard of an invading, vanquishing army sweeping across the land, liquid-quick; conquering everything, quelling resistance. With it came darkness, dimming the light. Humans hid in their houses, while outside spears pierced, shattering stone walls. Uncountable soldiers smashed into the ground, but each elicited life as he died; when the army had vanished, advancing northward, the land was green and growing, refreshed. What is it?
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?
