91

My head was hammered into shape, scarred
by sharp chisels, scoured by a file.
I often gape at what faces me
when wearing rings, I thrust firmly
against a hard object; hollowed out
from behind, I strain at what stands between
my lord and his heart's desire at midnight.
Sometimes I pull back my nose,
guardian of gold, when my murderous lord
plans to steal treasures from those whom he
has disposed of, just as he pleases.

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92

<This Riddle did not survive>

93

<This Riddle is still be translated to digital form>

94

<This Riddle did not survive>

95

<This Riddle is still be translated to digital form>

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