I rise above the City of Light, built of iron for a temporary purpose. Once called ugly, now iconic. I’ve seen revolutions and peace, and I sparkle over a river dividing old from new.

I can be of gold, iron or salt, What am I?

I have no legs, but I am always running. I have no lungs, but I can’t stop breathing. I have a bed, but I never sleep. I have a mouth, but I never speak Though I can roar when I’m angry, And I’m always at my best when I’m going downhill.

In darkness deep where whispers echo, nature sculpts her secret halls, a retreat for winged creatures and buried tales of old.

I stand alone, solid and still, One single piece, shaped by skill. Ancient or modern, tall or small, What am I, made from just one all?