Answer:
I am round as an apple, deep as a cup. All the King's horses can't pull me up. What am I?
Only one color, but not one size. Stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies. Present in sun, but not in rain; doing no harm, and feeling no pain. What am I?
I am in truth a yellow fork from tables in the sky by inadvertent fingers dropped the awful cutlery. Of mansions never quite disclosed and never quite concealed the apparatus of the dark to ignorance revealed.
I cannot be bought cannot be sold even if Iβm sometimes made of gold.
I am the black child of a white father a wingless bird flying even to the clouds of heaven. I give birth to tears of mourning in pupils that meet me even though there is no cause for grief and at once on my birth I am dissolved into air.
I flow from the Homerβs mouth when he sees doughnuts.