Fill my bucket, spill my bucket,
over a plane of snow.
Black the track as I look back,
my footsteps talk but make no sound.
What am I?

 

We are such little tiny creatures;
all of us have different features.
One of us in glass is set;
One of us you’ll find in jet.
Another you may see in tin,
and the fourth is boxed within.
If the fifth you should pursue,
it can never fly from you.
What are we?

 

I can be smooth as silk when you touch me
Yet hard as rock when you hit me
I can be crystal clear
Or dark as pitch
I can be still and silent
Or I can rumble and roar.
What am I?

 

I saw an unusual book:
The foreword comes after the epilogue;
The end is in the first half of the book;
The index comes before the introduction.
Name the book.

LET ME SEE WHAT YOU GOT… SUBMIT YOUR ANSWERS IN THE COMMENT BOX…

THANKS FOR READING…IT’S THURSDAY THOUGHTS!

Tune in next week for the answers…

Source:  wikibooks.org