Riddle my Riddle Dear Watson
My first of four now hard, now soft appears,
sometimes it slakes, sometimes pours lakes of tears,
unmoved before, thaws, mists, then disappears,
descent rise follows, reign change engineers.
My second spins around as satellite
and from land's end scans out to see the light,
used dust to dust through dust returns to write
detailed tale of Man's mistaken might.
My third flaws all resisting flaming cause,
assures few doors contain engulfing maws,
sucks air it draws, earth scorched ignoring pause,
consuming trees, birds, bees, rooms, tombs, stores, floors.
My fourth blows forth to North, South, East and West,
arrested never, almost always blessed
unless its zest unrest spreads, topples nest,
destiny's quest jest crests at its behest.
My four withdrawn no earthly life could thrive,
when two are absent few remain alive.
Here ends this riddle's ride, henceforward strive
to decode band, drive four in hand, contrive
to draw conclusions for life's daily page
where poise and equipoise no war need wage
against a world where balance rules each age
from first bawl to last curtain call's ghast stage.
[c] Jonathan Robin robi3_1767_robi3_0000 XXX_ENZ 17 June 2008 revised 22 August 2009
Riddle my Riddle Dear Watson
My first of four now hard, now soft appears,
A part of whole which then may move to tears,
Unmoved before, in mist it disappears,
DEscent rise follows, changes engineers.
My second spins around as satellite
And from land's end scans out to see the light,
Used dust to dust through dust returns to write
DEtailed tale of Man's mistaken might.
My third flaws all that fights its flowing cause,
Assures no pause resists engulfing maws,
Unstintingly draws air without a pause
DEvouring trees, sweet honey bees, and floors.
My fourth blows forth to North, South, East and West,
Arrested never, almost always blessed.
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poem by Jonathan Robin
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