A Grassy Riddle A place to play With grass and trees And maybe a slide and a swing. A place to sit In the evening breeze And keep an eye on things. What am I? A Stoney Riddle Made by stone Or marble Or bronze, We were carved By loving hands, Replicas of those Who lived once In our books And in our lands. What are we? A geiserly Riddle My water sprays Up and up and down, But stays here Going around and around, A little geiser Here in town. What am I?    A Fearsome Riddle Fearsome creatures Made of stone We sit and stare As you go by, Two by two Or all alone. We never lived And cannot die. What are we? A Well-placed Riddle Over Paris, over Rome We shine to lead The sailors home. Over America, Still the same. We've each a place And each a name. What are we? A Fast Riddle I run beneath The ground so fast No one gets in way. They get inside me though And usually Several times a day. They squish and smush Or sit relaxed Until I spit them out. Then I run beneath The ground again With a squeak And a whiny shout. What am I? A Wandering Riddle I've wandered through Paris Since who knows when Carrying ships and food And men, Dividing the city Left and right, Then slowly drifting Out of sight. What am I?

A Moving Riddle I'll tell you a story Without one word. Everything seen And nothing heard. Watch me move And see if you see What it's saying To you Through me. What am I? A Useful Riddle I'm the money They use in France From little shops To banks. Work a little Make a lot And then say thanks. What am I? A Famous Riddle I'm a long loaf of bread And not too fat. In Paris, I'm famous For sure. Millions sold. Imagine that! I'm almost as famous As her. What am I? A Serious Riddle At the Louvre Again today They watch me Watching them this way. I don't smile And they don't smile. It's more of a Serious artful style Of being quiet Or maybe shy. Why do they come? And who am I? A Beautiful Riddle Pictures made Of colored glass Tell you stories One by one. Inside and out We're beautiful, Especially in The morning sun. What are we? A Towering Riddle My flying buttresses Really don't fly Though my twin towers Are towering And quasimodo, Hunching by, Covers his ears And with a cry hells "Oh, the bells! The bells!" And I'm sorry They're so overpowering. And who am I?     back to top