Sunday, December 10, 2006

I may run rings around you
Or escape your clutching grip
Or leave a treacherous trail
That gives a sudden slip.
(If you're not careful!)

You always end up winning,
While I shrink with each new meet:
Our bouts will be my ruin,
But you'll come out smelling sweet.

What am I?

3 comments:

dad-e~O said...

uhhhh.... Water?

dad-e~O said...

or a bar of soap

Sickboy said...

Ya got it, a bar of soap indeed!!!!