Answer:
Although my cow is dead, I still beat herΒ What a racket she makes.
A slow, solemn square-dance of warriors feinting. One by one they fall, warriors fainting, thirty-two on sixty-four.
Late afternoons I often bathe. I'll soak in water piping hot. My essence goes through. My see through clothes. Used up am I - I've gone to pot.
How can you burn an apple, blueberry, rose and pumpkin without leaving any ashes but retaining the smell of it?
My first half is normally made of stone, my second is crazy, and I taste sweet when complete.
If lightning strikes an orchestra who is the one most likely to get hit?