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. What am I ?
The answer is wood
I see you, but you don't see me The ground beneath me is littered with bones The air above me is my path Go now, I am sleeping under your sun Now tell me who I am ?
Miners work quickly to have me but they cant see, touch or smell me. My value is greater than you think but if you lose, me I'm gone forever.
What am I?
My veins extends beneath the Earth, My hands raised toward the sky, I can seem to live forever, Though many times I die. I cry when I am wounded, Sweet tears that help me heal, I mourn and take off all my clothes, When bitterness I feel. What am I?
