The sun bakes them, The hand breaks them, The foot treads on them, And the mouth tastes them. What are they? | Thinkmad.in

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The sun bakes them, The hand breaks them, The foot treads on them, And the mouth tastes them. What are they?

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Once you have it, you want to share it. Once you share it, you don’t have it. What is it?

My first may be fashioned of iron or wood, And at window or door for safety is placed; In village or town, it does more harm than good, Leading people their health, time, and money to waste. My second’s a lady, bewitching and fair, And for love of her people will labor and strive; Will rise before dawn, and be wearied with care, And pursue her with ardor as long as they live. My whole is what ladies admire and approve, The shopkeeper’s boast-the purchaser’s prize; ‘Tis a ninepenny chintz-’tis a one-shilling glove- It is something which makes people open their eyes. What am I?

What must be looked through in order to see?

If two’s company and three’s a crowd, what are four and five?

I’m not the sort that’s eaten, I’m not the sort you bake, Don’t put me in an oven; I don’t taste that great, But when applied correctly, around me you will find, Problems are so simple when my digits come to mind

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