The Daily Riddle

Soldiers line up spaced with pride,
Two long rows lined side by side.
One sole unit can decide,
If the rows will unite or divide.
Tell me, tell me, scream it out.
What’s the thing I talk about?

My first is in some but not in all.
My second in into but not in tall.
My third in little but not in big.
My fourth in pork but not in pig.
My whole is made in nature’s way.
For clothing, rugs used every day.

Only one color, but not one size,
Stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies.
Present in sun, but not in rain,
Doing no harm, and feeling no pain.

I am not alive, but I grow;
I don’t have lungs, but I need air;
I don’t have a mouth, but water kills me.

I am just two and two. I am hot. I am cold.
I am the parent of numbers that cannot be told.
I am a gift beyond measure, a matter of course.
I am given with pleasure when taken by force.

Abuse me for I will not care.
Curse me when I stray from fair.
Brute force won’t put me in my place.
Smooth and even wins the race.
Envy colors where I rest.
No sandy beaches for the best.

I ride, I ride, no tracks are left;
I chop and chop;
There are no chips left.
He rides and rides;
Turns around:
There is no road left.

I have arms,
I have legs,
I even have a back;
But movement I lack

I can be quick and then I’m deadly,
I am a rock, shell and bone medley.
If I was made into a man, I’d make people dream,
I gather my millions by ocean, sea and stream.

Every dawn begins with me,
At dusk I’ll be the first you see,
And daybreak couldn’t come without
What midday centers all about.
Daises grow from me, I’m told
And when I come, I end all cold,
But in the sun I won’t be found,
Yet still, each day I’ll be around.