Answer:
I have a name written on me, but it isnβt my name. Men plant me, but I never grow. They look at me and see their future, rotting in my bloom.
We are little airy creatures all of different voice and features one of us in glass is set. One of us you'll find in jet. Another you may see in tin. And the fourth a box within. If the fifth you should pursue it can never fly from you.
Whoever makes it, tells it not. Whoever takes it, knows it not. Whoever knows it, wants it not. What am I?
The dirtier I get, the whiter I am. What am I?
I am a type of animal that hang out in the mist
A little house full of meat, no door to go in and eat.