Answer:
A hole in a pole, though I fill a hole in white. I'm used more by the day, and less by the night.
Always wax, yet always wane: I melt, succumbed to the flame. Lighting darkness, with fate unblest, I soon devolve to shapeless mess.
If you have it, you want to share it. If you share it, you don't have it.
What weaves webs as they grow?
Who is that with a neck and no head, two arms and no hands? What is it?
What covers its face with its hands, speaks no language, yet most known what it's saying?