I have a CD that has Leonard Nimoy and John DeLancie arguing, in character as Spock and Q respectively, about whether the Earth should be saved from an incoming asteroid.
Part of the discussion is a riddle game, and of the riddles, this is my favourite:
Everyone knows me.
Once, it is rumoured, a man drank his fill of me (much to his regret).
Others prefer me in small doses for small ailments.
Some describe me as an age, a tongue, the sky, the land
Fire, bird, fish, flower.
I am captive; I am free;
Loved and eschewed,
Pure and corrupt,
Black and white.
I am found in the deepest mine and on the highest mountain,
I am animal, vegetable, mineral.
The man who regretted drinking gold is Marcus Licinius Crassus Dives. Gold salts are an arthritis remedy. A gold sky, and golden fields are two you missed. It is captive in mines, running free in streams. How it is loved and eschewed are obvious, and gold itself is pure, but it wields a corrupting influence.
There is a thing that nothing is,
And yet it has a name.
It’s sometimes tall, sometimes short,
Joins our talks, joins our sport,
And plays at every game?