The Riddle
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I lived in a tower that mourned for
a stair,
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I sang to the forest, I let down my hair.
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With my song I turn ships into wrecks
on the shore,
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I sew shirts from nettles, I spin gold from straw.
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With Rome at my feet, I held Egypt's
throne,
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A bringer of luck, I turn men to stone.
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The downfall of Troy, the mistress
of War,
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I danced seven veils, I was Babylon's
whore.
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I waltzed in glass slippers, I held
Bluebeard's key,
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I slept for an age and was bruised
by a pea.
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With both my feet bound, I'm the height
of good taste,
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I'll shatter my ribs for a sixteen
inch waist.
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If you like I'm obese, if you don't
then I'm slim.
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I can melt and remould to suit cultural
whim.
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I exist in aroma but I'm not in the
pith.
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My misnomers's woman, my true name
is myth
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