357. WHAT IS IT?
My whole is no matter,
And light as the air,
Yet it is good on the platter,
And excellent fare.
Curtail and transpose,
And a lady you see,
Who will flatter and pose,
And with many do me.
358. WHAT IS IT?
My first, for ages out of mind,
All men have always worn behind;
And yet alike by sea and land
They carry it upon their hand.
My second, carefully matured,
Is never ill but often cured.
My whole, within unchanging lines
Black men and white alike confines.
359. WHAT IS THIS?
“We westand fall.”