Riddle #10
I grow, yet have no feeling,
and where I always spurt ahead, I get mowed down
and it doesn’t bother me a mite.
Usually noticed but seldom used
I hardly know my purpose.
Yet often I’m painted red;
I must wear this false face
though I have neither eyes nor nose
nor mouth nor ears to hear by.
I am just me, hard and thin.
Pure growth, without sensation. By this I expose
banalities of paint and trim.
