It cannot be seen, cannot be felt,
Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt.
It lies behind stars and under hills,
And empty holes it fills.
It comes first and follows after,
Ends life, kills laughter.

One thin, one bold,
One sick, one cold.
The earth we span,
To prey upon man.

Who are we?

Colored as a maiden tweaked,
Time was naught when I began;
Through the garden I was sneaked,
I alone am the fall of man.

What am I?

For our ambrosia we were blessed,
By Jupiter, with a sting of death.
Though our might, to some is jest,
We have quelled the dragon’s breath.

Who are we?

Something wholly unreal, yet seems real to I
Think my friend, tell me where does it lie?

Weight in my belly,
Trees on my back,
Nails in my ribs,
Feet I do lack.

What am I?

If you break me
I do not stop working,
If you touch me
I may be snared,
If you lose me
Nothing will matter.

What am I?

A red drum which sounds
Without being touched,
And grows silent,
When it is touched.

What is it?

What passes before the sun but makes no shadow?

What runs smoother than any rhyme, loves to fall but cannot climb?