Answer:
I fill a room but take no space.
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.
I come out of the earth, I am sold in the market. The one who buys me cuts my tail, takes off my suit of silk, and weeps beside me when I am dead. What am I?
What tastes better than it smells?
In all the world, none can compare, I am a tiny weaver; my deadly cloth so silky and fair. What am I?
A town has only two barbers. One of the barbers has a nice, tidy haircut, and the other has a shaggy, messy haircut. Which barber should you go to?