White bird, featherless, flying out of paradise. Flying over sea and land. Dying in my hand.

White bird, featherless, flying out of paradise. Flying over sea and land. Dying in my hand.

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Thirty men and ladies two, gathered for a festive do; Dressed quite formal, black and white; soon movement turned to nasty fight.

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I'm the source of all emotion, but I'm caged in a white prison.

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A hill full, a hole full, yet you cannot catch a bowl full.

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A device for finding furniture in the dark.

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Through its wounds, water does run. It once held many but now has none. What is it?

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Riddle of the Day

May 14, 2026

What covers its face with its hands, speaks no language, yet most known what it's saying?

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