Answer:
A hole in a pole, though I fill a hole in white. I'm used more by the day, and less by the night.
Halo of water, tongue of wood. Skin of stone, long I've stood. My fingers short reach to the sky. Inside my heart men live and die.
Whoever makes it, tells it not. Whoever takes it, knows it not. Whoever knows it, wants it not. What is it?
Twigs and spheres and poles and plates. Join and bind to reason make.
Take one out and scratch my head, I am now black but once was red.
As round as an apple. As deep as a cup. All the king's horses can't pull it up.