Answer:
Searing 'cross the pitch-black skies I scream in celebration Yet moments later my outburst through I am naught but imagination.
I am merry creature in pleasant time of year as in but certain seasons I sing that you can hear; And yet I'm made a by-word A very perfect mock; Compared to foolish persons And silliest of all folk.
I always go to bed with my shoes on. What am I?
What is deaf, dumb, and blind, but always tells the truth?
I'm very tempting, so it's said. I have a shiny coat of red and my flesh is white beneath. What am I?
It flows out of the soil, It burns you if it boils, And holds us in its coils, More valuable than gold, As black as it is old.