Answer:
Squeeze it and it cries tears. As red as its flesh, but its heart is made of stone.
Gold in a leather bag, swinging on a tree, money after honey in its time. Ills of a scurvy crew cured by the sea, reason in its season but no rhyme.
The sun bakes them, The hand breaks them, The foot treads them, The mouth tastes them.
Men seize it from its home, tear apart its flesh, drink the sweet blood, then cast its skin aside.
We are a round stone fruit with juicy yellow flesh and downy pinkish-ยญyellow skin that is often sweet or tart in taste. What are we?
Iโm grown from darkness but shine with a pale light. Very round I am and always a lady's delight.