I bounce on knees and clap in time by candle, crib, or cot, Made of la-la, hush, and hum, though I can’t be caught. I teach the moon to count to sheep and stars to tag along, Passed from lips to little ears, then carried all life long. I end when silence says goodnight, begin when voices throng.

If mutts could meow, and tabbies could bark; If pencils wiped clean, but erasers could mark; If the grass were blue, And the sky was green; What would the answer, To this riddle have been?

It starts with a thought. There's a cat in me. Put a particle, and it dies. Or so you think. You can't see it, but the states... there are two, both at once. I'll ask you this one time... what am I?

I’m a label, a game, and a trace, Attached to your name in a digital space. What am I, rhyming with brag?

We can play a little game of wits, if you like. If you would think to insult my intelligence, then you have already lost. Nothing looks worse on a person than cruelty and contempt, and my arguments are every bit as good as yours, in any measurable degree. If instead you would compliment me, you shall honor yourself, for kindness carries a dignified air of nobility, and sits well on any who choose to wear it. Whether the game is to be played at all, of course, is up to you.