Answer:
My sides are firmly laced about, Yet nothing is within; You'll think my head is strange indeed, Being nothing else but skin.
Who works when he plays and plays when he works?
What comes once in a minute, twice in a moment, but never in a thousand years?
We travel much, yet prisoners are, and close confined to boot. Yet with any horse, we will keep the pace, and will always go on foot.
We are few to the wise; We are abundant to the drunken; We can calm the beast and are precious to the child; We can devour the heart, without piercing the skin
In birth I spring forth, in life I unfold. In death I wilt and die, but rebirth restores all.