Answer:
Before I grow I'm small. When I'm old I grow tall. When I die I give a mighty fall.
I don't live within a house, nor do I live without. Most will use me when they come in, and again when they go out. What am I?
What is it that makes tears without sorrow. And takes its journey to heaven?
My voice is tender, my waist is slender and I'm often invited to play. Yet wherever I go, I must take my bow or else I have nothing to say. What am I?
I can't go left, I can't go right. I am forever stuck in a building over three stories high. What am I?
What do you purposefully put lots of in and on your body, but run away from when you encounter it outside?