Answer:
A time when they're green. A time when they're brown. But both of these times, cause me to frown. But just in between, for a very short while. They're perfect and yellow. And cause me to smile.
What weaves webs as they grow?
A house full, a yard full, a chimney full, no one can get a spoonful.
My first is high, My second damp, My whole a tie, A writer's cramp
Three little letters, a paradox to some. The worse that it is, the better it becomes.
I'm the source of all emotion but I'm caged in a white prison.