Riddles (Page 15)

What are the next two letters in the following series and why?
W A T N T L I T F S _ _

A time when they're green, a time when they're brown, But both of these times, cause me to frown. But just in between, for a very short while, They're perfect and yellow, and cause me to smile!

I can be cracked, I can be made. I can be told, I can be played. What am I?

This thing runs but cannot walk, sometimes sings but never talks. Lacks arms, has hands; lacks a head but has a face. What is it?

I am sometimes strong and sometimes weak, but I am nobody's fool. For there is no language that I cannot speak, though I never went to school. What am I?

I come in winter. I cannot see, hear, or feel. I can't eat, but you can eat parts of me. What am I?

I can be long, or I can be short. I can be grown, or I can be bought. I can be painted, or left bare. I can be round, or square. What am I?

Thousands lay up gold within this house,
but no man made it.
Spears past counting guard this house,
but no man wards it.

A wonder on the wave / water became bone.

A hoard of rings am I,
but no fit gift for a bride;
I await a sword's kiss.

Hard iron on horse / cow's hide on man.

I am the hall-upholder,
once crowned in green.

I am the yellow hem
of the sea's blue skirt.

I am the red tongue of the Earth,
that buries cities.

The Moon is my father,
the Sea is my mother;
I have a million brothers,
I die when I reach land.

I am fire-fretted / and I flirt with Wind;
my limbs are light-freighted / I am lapped in flame.
I am storm-stacked / and I strain to fly;
I'm a grove leaf-bearing / and a glowing coal.

From hand to hand / about the hall I go,
Much do lords and ladies / love to kiss me;
When I hold myself high / and the whole throng
bows before me / their blessedness
shall flourish skyward / beneath my fostering shade.

Swings by his thigh / a thing most magical!
Below the belt / beneath the folds
Of his clothes it hangs / a hole in its front end,
stiff-set and stout / it swivels about.

Levelling the head / of this hanging tool,
its wielder hoists his hem / above his knee;
it is his will to fill / a well-known hole
that it fits fully / when at full length

He's oft filled it before. / Now he fills it again.

Screaming, soaring
seeking sky
Flowers of fire
flying high
Eastern art
from ancient time
Name me now
and solve this rhyme

My step is slow
the snow's my breath
I give the ground
a grinding death
My marching
makes an end of me
Slain by sun
or drowned in sea.