The little mouse went picking fruit. She found a thimble, a straw, and a cloud. A dew escaped her through sheer height, and when the little mouse searched for a cloud, she found a goose instead. She suckled on some honey and was happy with the very ripe...

I hold the water for your floor, Or sand you scooped beside the shore. With a metal handle and a plastic side, What am I that carries what is poured inside?

I have hands but cannot hold you, a face but no eyes, and I speak without uttering a word. I am forever moving, though I remain exactly where you left me. Kings have watched me, prisoners have cursed me, and lovers have wished, more than once, that I would simply slow down. You may ignore me for an afternoon, but I will never return the favor. What am I?

How many primary colours are there? The Frenchman replied . . .

I'm the coolest. But add a letter to my start and I become: Something that makes your head itch. Roll us and we might make you rich. A rhyme about three unable to see, Crockett and Tubbs in Miami. What am I ?