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Very few friends I have, renowned am not,
Concealed and shielded behind much, difficult to spot.
I am like bug and sickness; I am contagious not always wanted,
Though I am small, they fear me greatly, for I might leave them haunted.
At times I am tough to keep, my master forced to let me free,
Then I rupture and soar around and they converse regarding me.
I may be friend or foe, servant or teacher,
I am like a bird; I want to be free creature.
What am I?
Of all my siblings, which I have many,
I am the number, wise old twenty.
I always wear, my long thin hat,
And stand on one leg, I've never sat.
I'm last of last, and last of first
I'm last of the best, and last of the worst.
Who am I?
Old Mr. White,
Flew high like a kite,
In an invisible plane,
He flew all day and night.
He would shade the sunlight,
In his never-ending flight,
Some days his plane would leak,
Dripping water without spite.
What am I?
Often talked of, never seen,
Ever coming, never been.
Daily looked for, never here,
Still approaching, coming near.
Thousands for my visit wait,
But alas, for their fate,
Though they expect me to appear,
They will never find me here.
What am I?