I run but never walk, I roar but have no mouth. I can carve through stone or cradle a seed, Yet I never leave my bed.

They say the world is round, but I am flat. What am I?

A story passed down through the ages, a fabled city lost in all but tale. These people grew greedy, attacked the Athenians, and overnight their home was gone. Many fables have existed, about what advancements existed, but no proof has ever been found.

Where land and sea share a lazy embrace, waves gently dance in a tranquil space. A boundary of blue, where horizons blend, stretching endlessly, where journeys end.

I rise and fall as boats stall over mountain ridges and trolls fidges stone by stone built up in rome just to fall back down in london