Answer:
Two little holes in the side of a hill. Just as you come to the cherry-red mill.
I can be short and sometimes hot. When displayed, I rarely impress.
My life can be measured in hours, I serve by being devoured. Thin, I am quick. Fat, I am slow. Wind is my foe.
What is it which builds things up? Lays mountains low? Dries up lakes, and makes things grow? Cares not a whim about your passing? And is like few other things, because it is everlasting?
A man is pushing his car along the road when he comes to a hotel. He shouts, "I'm bankrupt!" Why?
What did the piece of wood say when he saw the screwdriver and screws approaching?