People speak through me, yet I do not make a sound.
People can sell me, yet I have many clones.
I can bring you laughter between breakfast and tea,
Yet I can also break your heart easily.
I cover the earth like trees of old,
Whose leaves can blind and yet enfold.
A book. Authors can speak to you through a book, yet the book makes no sound. Books are sold and have many duplicate copies. A book can bring the reader to tears and laughter, they span the globe and the leaves of a book (a single sheet in a book is called a leaf) can get you wrapped up in the story that you’re unaware of what’s going on around you.
“Life’s funny”, said an old friend when I bumped into him the other day.
“Listen to this, I was born in March, yet I celebrate my birthday in August, and last February I married my mother”.
He was born in the month of August in a town named March, became a priest and married his widowed mother to her second husband in February (the month).
I move quickly with hurried steps,
If my hand is forced I can sink ships,
I’ll cause you to shudder when driving your car,
And haul your fuel to where you are,
I’ll watch you bleed from a cut,
Add a rear and I’ll tell you what’s what.
Scuttle. To scuttle is to scurry or run hurriedly. Scuttling is the deliberate sinking of your own ship. Scuttle shake is felt in convertibles where the passengers feel a distinct shudder. A coal scuttle is a bucket-like container to haul coal. A shaving scuttle holds hot water when you’re shaving. And adding a “rear” forms scuttlebutt, or rumors and gossip.
begin, binge, being. Everything has a beginning, Thanksgiving dinner is known for being a meal of excessive consumption and the mortal state of being (or the state of a human being) is one which, for all our efforts to extend, will eventually end.