Answer:
Whiling away the hours of flowers, Walking through fields of gold. Preening and pruning in lights fading hours, For petals to freeze in the cold. What is it?
More precious than gold, but cannot be bought, Can never be sold, only earned if itโs sought, If it is broken it can still be mended, At birth it canโt start nor by death is it ended.
A hill full, a hole fullอพ yet you cannot catch a bowl full. What is it?
In Paris but not in France, the thinnest of its siblings.
I saw a man in white, he looked quite a sight. He was not old, but he stood in the cold. And when he felt the sun, he started to run. Who could he be? Please answer me.
I am the fountain from which no one can drink. For many I am considered a necessary link. Like gold to all I am sought for, but my continued death brings wealth for all to want more.