Answer:
Always old, sometimes new. Never sad, sometimes blue. Never empty, sometimes full. Never pushes, always pulls.
A little house full of meat, no door to go in and eat.
My children are near and far. No matter that I know where they are. The gift I give them make their day. But if I were gone they would wander away.
With head without hair. With mouth without tooth.
What is so fragile that saying its name breaks it?
What is lighter than what it is made of?