Answer:
I grow where no flower grows, where no light touches the walls, up or down, that I don't care, was here before people were.
What doesn't get any wetter, no matter how much rain falls on it?
I am a fire's best friend. When fat, my body fills with wind. When pushed to thin, through my nose I blow. Then you can watch the embers glow.
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?
Within, I clean all that is bad and is old. I make juice thatβs the color of gold. Should I die, a filter machine would you need assembled to replace me and beans I resemble.
What never gets any wetter no matter how hard it rains?