Answer:
I am the red tongue of the earth, that buries cities.
Gold in a leather bag, swinging on a tree, money after honey in its time. Ills of a scurvy crew cured by the sea, reason in its season but no rhyme.
You can only have it once you have given it.
They have not flesh, nor feathers, nor scales, nor bone. Yet they have fingers and thumbs of their own.
What can you fold but not crease?
Iām grown from darkness but shine with a pale light. Very round I am and always a lady's delight.