Answer:
White bird, featherless, flying out of paradise. Flying over sea and land. Dying in my hand.
The one who makes it, sells it. The one who buys it, never uses it. The one that uses it never knows that heβs using it.
An open ended barrel, it is shaped like a hive. It is filled with the flesh, and the flesh is alive.
At first I am a yellow weed in the lawn, and then the wind blows, and my white feathers are gone. What am I?
I have a tongue, but do not talk. I follow close, but neither run nor walk. Coupled and hitched, but never married. You couldn't bear the load I've carried.
People take me on walks and I run and have fun. What am I?