Answer:
Put into a pit, locked beneath a grate, guarded through the night, yet it still goes out.
Although my cow is dead, I still beat herΒ What a racket she makes.
Long legs, crooked thighs, little head, and no eyes.
Long and slinky like a trout, never sings till it's guts come out.
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.
What is so fragile that saying its name breaks it?