Because of throwing in the towel, a folly there is, trying to picking up. Or, giving something up as hopeless though, a folly there is, trying to picking up.
Is it envy, touched by the baby, her tender skin on.
For a lost, to search and fall, my fate it is.
No umbrella, with suspicious looking, a long spell rain in autumn. or, no umbrella, with suspicious looking, the view to see.
Only one riddle left, the dog her holding only, no biting at.