Answer:
What is put on a table, cut, but never eaten?
It is an arctic double breasted formal wear.
A slow, solemn square-dance of warriors feinting. One by one they fall, warriors fainting, thirty-two on sixty-four.
What gets wet while drying?
I fly, yet I have no wings. I cry, yet I have no eyes. Darkness follows me. Lower light I never see.
What is so fragile that saying its name breaks it?