Answer:
Although my cow is dead, I still beat her. What a racket she makes!
What tastes better than it smells?
As beautiful as the setting sun, as delicate as the morning dew. An angel's dusting from the stars. That can turn the Earth into a frosted moon.
My prefix is food. My suffix is rude. My infix comes in rounds. I keep you off the ground. What Am I?
Not born, but from a Mother's body drawn. I hang until half of me is gone. I sleep in a cave until I grow old. Then valued for my hardened gold.
What is always coming but never arrives?