Answer:
A harvest sown and reaped on the same day in an unplowed field. Which increases without growing, remains whole though it is eaten within and without. Is useless and yet the staple of nations.
My children are near and far. No matter that I know where they are. The gift I give them make their day. But if I were gone they would wander away.
What is round as a dishpan, deep as a tub, and still the oceans couldn't fill it up?
What is it which builds things up? Lays mountains low? Dries up lakes, and makes things grow? Cares not a whim about your passing? And is like few other things, because it is everlasting?
It is destruction made out of thin air, You hear it howl and give a prayer, Through barns and houses it will tear. It is a deadly funnel, Of violent and twisting air.
As round as an apple. As deep as a cup. All the king's horses can't pull it up.