Answer:
My sides are firmly laced about, Yet nothing is withinΝΎ You'll think my head is strange indeed, Being nothing else but skin.
Sometimes I am loud. And viewed with distaste. Poke out my 'eye', then I'm on the front of your face.
How far will a blind dog walk into a forest?
Whiling away the hours of flowers, Walking through fields of gold. Preening and pruning in lights fading hours, For petals to freeze in the cold. What is it?
Crooked as a rainbow, and slick as a plate, Ten thousand horses can't pull it straight.
What is always coming but never arrives?