Here's a poem riddle by Emily Dickinson
I am, in truth, a yellow fork
From tables in the sky
By inadvertent finers dropped
The awful cutlery
Of Mansions never quite disclosed
And never quite concealed
The apparatus of the dark
To ignorance revealed
And if that is too easy, here's one of my own wording. I'm terrible at poems, so...
A symbol of beauty, I am soft and fragile
I reach for the sky, but others desire me
Take care when you touch me, for I draw blood
And then we will show the same colors.