Three brothers share a family sport:
A non-stop marathon
The oldest one is fat and short
And trudges slowly on
The middle brother’s tall and slim
And keeps a steady pace
The youngest runs just like the wind,
A-speeding through the race
“He’s young in years, we let him run,”
The other brothers say
“‘Cause though he’s surely number one,
He’s second, in a way.”

Soft and fragile is my skin
I get my growth in mud
I’m dangerous as much as pretty
For if not careful, I draw blood.

Kings and lords and christians raised them
Since they stand for higher powers
Yet few of them would stand, I’m certain,
If women ruled this world of ours.

Every dawn begins with me
At dusk I’ll be the first you see
And daybreak couldn’t come without
What midday centers all about
Daises grow from me, I’m told
And when I come, I end all cold
But in the sun I won’t be found
Yet still, each day I’ll be around

Kings and queens may cling to power
and the jester’s got his call
But, as you may all discover,
the common one outranks them all

Reaching stiffly for the sky,
I bare my fingers when it’s cold
In warmth I wear an emerald glove
And in between I dress in gold

I drift forever with the current
down these long canals they’ve made
Tame, yet wild, I run elusive
Multitasking to your aid.
Before I came, the world was darker
Colder, sometimes, rougher, true
But though I might make living easy,
I’m good at killing people too.

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 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?

Why doesn’t a mountain covered with snow catch cold?