Thursday riddle poem #17
By Annette Marie Hyder
I fly through the air though I am sans wings.
I carry births, deaths, marriages
love, hate, and gossip —
a myriad of things.
I’ve been in existence since ancient of times
in diverse languages and all different climes.
I have been metal, lead,
wax-coated wooden tablets,
pottery fragments, and animal skin
even an apple (says Ovid) was used
to send me from Acontius to Cydippe
At one time horses carried me
racing through day and night
to keep me on track.
Now airplanes and trucks
load me onto their backs.
I’m mentioned in the Illiad by Homer
and also in works by Herodotus and Thucydides.
My arrival is like the coming
of a friend to your door
but sadly my use is
becoming a lost art anymore.
What am I?