Answer:
I heard of a wonder, of words moth-eaten. That is a strange thing, I thought, weird. That a man's song be swallowed by a worm. His blinded sentences, his bedside stand-by rustled in the night - and the robber-guest. Not one wit the wiser. For the words he had mumbled.
I'm flat. You use me everyday. You need me to live. But you give me away everyday. I'm coloured and I have a founding father on me. What am I?
A hill full, a hole full, yet you cannot catch a bowl full.
Different lights do make me strange, thus into different sizes I will change.
Late afternoons I often bathe. I'll soak in water piping hot. My essence goes through. My see through clothes. Used up am I - I've gone to pot.
When is it bad luck to see a black cat?