Feeling lost?
Click for the answers
It gleams with light though it’s not gold,
A fragment of brilliance from legends old.Not all doors are made of wood —
Seek the tooth of brass that guards what could.Cradled in roots or cloaked in moss,
It holds the colours nature lost.A vessel of joy both old and grand,
It raises cheer by heart and hand.No tongue speaks it, yet wisdom flows —
Bound in parchment where story grows.Grains fall like whispers, soft and slight —
A fleeting dance of day to night.