Black I am and much admired, men seek me until they’re tired. When they find me, they break my head, and take from me my resting bed. What am I?
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Not born, but from a Mother’s body drawn, I hang until half of me is gone. I sleep in a cave until I grow old, then valued for my hardened gold. What am I?
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They have not flesh, nor feathers, nor scales, nor bone. Yet they have fingers and thumbs of their own. What are they?
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Many things can create one, it can be of any shape or size, it is created for various reasons, and it can shrink or grow with time. What is it?
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What can be heard and caught but never seen?
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