It's black and every time it speaks it says its name. | Thinkmad.in

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It’s black and every time it speaks it says its name.

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A shimmering field that reaches far. Yet it has no tracks, And is crossed without paths.

I’m colourful, You can have thick strips of me, And people often lose some of me. What am I?

What do you call an elephant’s skin doctor?

I lie in the earth, and under the ground; A map may reveal me for journey’s abound; I can be found in squares, to reduce down to size; Or at the end of a strand, where attachment lies. What am I?

Each morning I appear To lie at your feet, All day I will follow No matter how fast you run, Yet I nearly perish In the midday sun. What am I?

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