Answer:
It produces a flower but it is not its fruitΝΎ it produces branches which are its fruit.
I am a food made from the pressed curds of milk. I come in American, swiss, sharp and many other flavors. What am I?
There was a little heart inside a little white house, which was inside a little yellow house, which was inside a little brown house, which was inside a little green house.
Before crust hardens.
Gold in a leather bag, swinging on a tree, money after honey in its time. Ills of a scurvy crew cured by the sea, reason in its season but no rhyme.
What is it that makes tears without sorrow. And takes its journey to heaven?