Answer:
What always runs but never walks, often murmurs, never talks, has a bed but never sleeps, has a mouth but never eats?
We are five little objects of an everyday sort. You will find us all in a tennis court.
My sides are firmly laced about, Yet nothing is withinΝΎ You'll think my head is strange indeed, Being nothing else but skin.
I open wide and tight I shut, Sharp am I and paper-cut fingers too, so do take care, I'm good and bad, so best beware.
What is it something that you always have but you always leave behind?
People take me on walks and I run and have fun. What am I?