A cloud was my mother, the wind is my father. My son is the cool stream, and my daughter is the fruit of the land. A rainbow is my bed, the earth my final resting place. And I'm the torment of man. What am I?
I dig out tiny caves and store gold and silver in them. I also build bridges of silver and make crowns of gold. They are the smallest you could imagine. Sooner or later everybody needs my help. Yet many people are afraid to let me help them. Whata m I?
In marble halls as white as milk, lined with a skin as soft as silk. Within a fountain crystal-clear. A golden apple doth appear. No doors there are to this stronghold, yet thieves break in and steal the gold. What am I?