Answer:
I am the black child of a white father a wingless bird flying even to the clouds of heaven. I give birth to tears of mourning in pupils that meet me even though there is no cause for grief and at once on my birth I am dissolved into air.
When you take away the whole from me there is always some left.
With three leaves, I am just a plant. Add another leaf and everyone will want me for good luck. What am I?
So cold damp and dark I am. To stay you would refrain yet those who occupy me do never complain.
I am one with eight to spare, lest I lose my one. I'm not a number. What am I?
Though not a plant, has leaves. Though not a beast, has spine. Though many wouldn't need this thing, It's more valuable than wine.