Answer:
Always old, sometimes new. Never sad, sometimes blue. Never empty, sometimes full. Never pushes, always pulls.
What always runs but never walks, often murmurs, never talks, has a bed but never sleeps, has a mouth but never eats?
When the son of the water returns to the parent, it dies. What is it?
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.
I have four wings but cannot fly. I never laugh and never cry. On the same spot always found, toiling away with little sound.
They are many and one, they wave and they drum, Used to cover a state, they go with you everywhere.