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Writer's pictureHelena Jayne (Ells)

Riddle I

It is the source for feathers,

leaves and flies.

In might force, it travels

the skies.

The clouds, they shout, crackle and hide.

They rally their troops,

though in the end, abide.

It is the agent that wrecks,

kills and divides.

Yet in times of despair

one would look to it

to fill their insides

with warmth and comfort

as the trees did swing.

Consider this,

this thing

could be a metaphor for a King.


What am I?

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