I eat, I live; I drink, I die. I roar with life, yet have no cry. Feed me well and I will grow, starve me once and out I go.

Your love for me must be acquired. Are you sophisticated or merely tired? My color’s rich until you spill some other in me; have your fill. Addiction follows when I bean you; but you don’t mine, forever keen to.

I have a handle but I'm not a door, I can lift but I'm not a crane, I have a blade but I'm not a knife, What am I, useful in both garden and farm life?

I ride with kings, though I wear no crown I march in rows, but never leave the ground Straight I advance, yet sideways I slay One humble step can change my fate one day

A limb, a nose, a finger, a hose. A home in the attic for off-season clothes. A pillar from which a canopy grows. A boot not for walking, but holding cargo.