Beneath its surface I cannot live.
Neither can I live without.
A type of torture, a source of life,
And lacking in a drought.


I’ve come to the riddle poem in A Kick in the Head.

Actually, I was there yesterday and thought, I could just skip this one.

I am so NOT a riddle fan.

I’d rather write a sonnet than a riddle.

Riddles are just irritating to me. They reek of guesswhatImthinking — and that just bugs me.

It bugged me when Samson did it — I mean, really, honey in a lion carcass? That’s just gross. (see Judges 14)

So there is my riddle, at the top, for what it’s worth.

Answer: water


One thought on “Riddle

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