Answer:
I have a name written on me, but it isnβt my name. Men plant me, but I never grow. They look at me and see their future, rotting in my bloom.
Without me everyone would lose their head. What am I?
Deep, deep, do they go. Spreading out as they go. Never needing any air. They are sometimes as fine as hair.
I fly yet I have no wings. I cry yet I have no eyes. Darkness follows me. Lower light I never see.
People see through me, but none pass through without killing me. I can be anywhere, and can be seen double or single. What am I?
Lynn likes grapes but not potatoes. She likes squash but not lettuce, and she likes peas but not onions. Following the same rule, will she like pumpkins or apples?