I run over fields and woods all day. Under the bed at night I sit, never alone. My tongue hangs out, up and to the rear, waiting to be filled in the morning. What am I?
I look flat, but I am deep,
Hidden realms I shelter.
Lives I take, but food I offer.
At times I am beautiful.
I can be calm, angry and turbulent.
I have no heart, but offer pleasure as well as death.
No man can own me, yet I encompass what all men must have.