Answer:
Thirty white horses on a red hill, First they champ, Then they stamp, Then they stand still.
I don't think or eat or slumber. Or move around or fear thunder. Just like you I look the same but I can't harm you or be your bane.
What goes in the water red, and comes out black?
I heard of a wonder, of words moth-eaten. That is a strange thing, I thought, weird. That a man's song be swallowed by a worm. His blinded sentences, his bedside stand-by rustled in the night - and the robber-guest. Not one wit the wiser. For the words he had mumbled.
What gets wet while drying?
Break me and I am better immediately set and harder to be broken again.