Answer:
You use a knife to slice my head. And weep beside me when I am dead.
Who is he that runs without a leg. And his house on his back?
We are five little objects of an everyday sort, You will find us all in a tennis court.
A home of wood in a wooded place, but built not by hand. High above the earthen ground, it holds its pale blue gems. What is it?
By Moon or by Sun, I shall be found. Yet I am undone, if there's no light around.
When is it bad luck to see a black cat?