A Harvest Sown and Reaped
A harvest sown and reaped on the same day
In an unplowed field,
Which increases without growing,
Remains whole though it is eaten
Within and without,
Is useless and yet
The staple of nations.
A war.
Thin, Bold, Sick And Cold
One thin, one bold,
One sick, one cold.
The earth we span,
To prey upon man.
Who are we?
The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.
Doesn’t Fly Even With Wings
I have four wings but cannot fly,
I’ve never laughed nor will ever cry,
As much as I’d love to leave the ground,
I toil away with nary a sound.
What am I?
A windmill. The typical windmill, like the ones Don Quixote chased, have four vanes or sails. You might even say they look like wings. Windmills don’t have emotions, so they can’t laugh or cry. And since they don’t have actual wings, windmills don’t get off the ground. A well-oiled little bugger won’t make a peep.
Something Dark Inside
Comes as wooden as a tree,
Covered in paint, don’t you see,
Makes you laugh, or run and hide,
For it has something dark inside.
A pencil. It’s wooden, is covered in paint and the output of a pencil in the form of writing or art can make you laugh or cry. And graphite is the dark part inside.
Gets Rid of Bad Ones
Gets rid of bad ones,
Short and tall,
Tightens when used
One size fits all.
A noose.