There is a bridge in a hollow shape
And a hundred going over it
No blacksmith, nor mason,
nor carpenter built it really.

Thousand coloured folds stretch towards the sky,
Atop a tender strand,
Rising from the land,
'Til killed by maiden's hand,
Perhaps a token of love, perhaps to say goodbye.

What is this?

A whole dale filled out, but nod even a single full hand.. what is it?

It is as large as a mountain, as small as a pea, endlessly swimming in a waterless ocean.

What is it?

Tell me something, which has roots as nobody sees, Is taller than trees, Up, up it goes, And yet never grows?