Often talked of, never seen, Ever coming, never been. Daily looked for, never here, Still approaching, coming near. Thousands for my visit wait, But alas, for their fate, Though they expect me to appear, They will never find me here. What am I?
TOMORROW
Feathers, I am as light, But quite heavy if squeezed tight. I'm seen as clean and pure, but often talked about with dirty terms. What am I?
You write on me and secrets I can keep. In places never seen. I spin like a top. Though stiff as a board, I’m often described like a mop. What am I ?
I am never quite what I appear to be. Straight-forward I seem, but it's only skin deep, for mystery most often lies beneath my simple speech. Sharpen your wits, open your eyes, look beyond my exteriors, read me backwards, forwards, upside down. Think critically and answer the question...What am I?
