Answer:
I have a name written on me, but it isnβt my name. Men plant me, but I never grow. They look at me and see their future, rotting in my bloom.
Although a human shape I wear Mother I never had; And though no sense nor life I share in finest silks I'm clad. By every miss I'm valued much beloved and highly prized; still my cruel fate is such by boys I am often despised.
In spring, I am gay in handsome array. In summer, more clothing I wear. When colder it grows, I fling off my clothes. In winter, quite naked appear. What am I?
I am a chair that can move. What am I?
I hold two people together but touch only one.
Though not a plant, has leaves. Though not a beast, has spine. Though many wouldn't need this thing, It's more valuable than wine.