Answer:
Always wax, yet always wane: I melt, succumbed to the flame. Lighting darkness, with fate unblest, I soon devolve to shapeless mess.
It is by nature, soft as silk; A puffy cloud, white as milk; Snow tops this tropical crop; The dirtiest part of a mop
There are several different kinds, but the one you pick doesn't do its job. What is it?
I don't have eyes, but once I did see. Once I had thoughts, but now I'm white and empty.
Halo of water, tongue of wood. Skin of stone, long I've stood. My fingers short reach to the sky. Inside my heart men live and die.
Often cooked as fillet, this meat comes from an animal that swims underwater.