Answer:
I move without wings Between silken string I leave as you find My substance behind.
What is the saddest fruit?
In all the world, none can compare, I am a tiny weaver; my deadly cloth so silky and fair. What am I?
I lose my head in the morning and regain back it at night.
I can be hairy and itchy all over. I hang on a stick. I can be the scariest thing you have ever seen. I stand in the middle of nowhere.
It flows out of the soil, It burns you if it boils, And holds us in its coils, More valuable than gold, As black as it is old.