40 Delightful Riddles for Kids

As I form I grow,

If thin, danger’s close,

When roaming free I can sink ships,

Crystal upon you glide or slip.

First I’m placed, then I’m drawn,

Then let loose, and I am gone,

Struck with love when struck by me,

Feathered foe finder flies faithfully.

I guide missiles in flight,

Compared to things very light,

Upon me heads lay in the night,

In days of old, a tool to write.

I do not live, yet I have skin,

A language of pulse, from within,

My hollow body brings a voice so bold,

With sticks or hands, tales I have told.

As time passes I grow like a tree,

Bound by blood, or by decree,

To many, I always come first,

But to teens, I am the worst.

I imitate life, it is said,

Lost when skills are dead,

I amuse, I amaze,

On a wall or on a stage.

You are in me when in debt,

Nothing within my silhouette,

On golf course, or swiss cheese,

Donuts, or old tees.

Vibrant colors in a soft bed,

Landing pad for aircraft,

Open when ready to spread,

Sweet smells that help attract.

Webbing of veins, paper thin,

Reach out wide to catch power within,

Every year my colors shift,

Then die and rain in a breezy drift.

On special days covered in flames,

Gather around, sing songs with names,

A piece of me means something’s easy,

Too much of me will make you queasy.

Silence is my only plea,

And I offer wisdom free,

Through these halls the curious roam,

Where countless stories make their home.

A drop won’t make a difference to me,

Stretch further than can be seen,

Within my vastness great prizes,

To this day mysterious surprises.

Two halves of a whole, sharp sides opposed,

Separates when opened and closed,

A pair, bound at the hip,

Guided by hand, across paper I snip.

Raise me high on a happy day,

Or in times of sorrow, halfway,

Fly in the wind, colors bold,

Saluted by many, for meaning I hold.

Raise me high on a happy day,

Or in times of sorrow, halfway,

Fly in the wind, colors bold,

Saluted by many, for meaning I hold.

From a tree, comes a leaf,

With parts of tales or stories brief,

Light as a feather but can hold weight,

A blank canvas for those who create.

A safe haven for those who roam,

Travelers comfort, nomads home,

On forest floor or desert sand,

With sticks and ropes I take my stand.

Step into my tiny space,

Then step out to a different place,

At your command, I ascend,

To the tired and old, a welcome friend.

Like eyes fixed to a screen,

Things apart I reconvene,

No strength at first, only drips,

But as I sit, I start to grip.

Like eyes fixed to a screen,

Things apart I reconvene,

No strength at first, only drips,

But as I sit, I start to grip.

Skilled hands with a twist and swish,

Make me into what you wish,

As gas flows in, I expand,

To be held in a child’s hand.

Changing my shape, but never my face,

Whether hidden, or seen in full,

Softly glowing in darknesses embrace,

Moving oceans with a gentle pull.

In joy I rise, in sorrow sink,

Other times a rosy pink,

Upon me in sorrow or in jest,

Tears may come to rest.

Have no thoughts, yet I can feel,

Symbol of love, emotions I seal,

Work without rest, steady and true,

Move rivers of a scarlet hue.

Descending slowly with grace,

No two of us with the same face,

Not a bird, but I flutter down,

Covering fields, roofs, and the town.

Pulls thrill-seekers across waves,

Dances in coordinated ballets,

Rises to child's delight,

Tethered to a string held tight.

Neither bird nor beast, yet I can sing,

A shrill call or a soft, sweet ring,

Announcing time throughout the day,

In towers high, I swing and sway.

I may be small, yet potential I hold,

To reach upwards and grow manyfold,

I rest in the dark until rain calls,

Then follow the sun and break through my walls.

As my shape shifts, what do you see,

A dragon, dove, or ship maybe?

Daydreamers have their heads in me,

To sow the earth I sometimes weep.

Tall when young, short when old,

Body from life, heart from stone,

Leave silver trails in my wake,

Print or picture I may make.

Upon a rounded hilltop, I expand,

A soft, fine forest, strand by strand,

In wind I dance, in rain I cling,

In age I change, and often thin.

Bored minds may stare at me,

I have a face yet cannot see,

Steady hands, in constant play,

With rhythmic strokes, I mark the day.

Removed out of respect,

Upon a perch, my usual place,

A shield from gusts or glare,

Adding charm, or hiding face.

With a stick as a spine,

A head with fibers fine,

Neat piles of filth, I prepare,

Witches fly me through the air.

In the hands of a child, I'm a sword,

In the hands of a hiker, provide support,

Poorly treated if receiving my short end,

Held in the mouth of man's best friend!

Used to make puppets,

Knocked off when impressed,

Can store your cash with me,

Rather than invest!

Rounded feature of many parties,

Cut four times then shared,

What is on my face may vary,

With soda often paired!

Mold me into what you wish,

Then heat and I won't move an inch,

A surface where tennis is played,

Material from which bricks are made.

Often opened with a knock,

With a twist at my end,

The key is in delivery,

Not taken by the easy to offend.

I grow within a pod,

Friendly with a smile broad,

My voice helps me see,

Clicks and whistles when I speak.