Answer:
Whoever makes it, tells it not. Whoever takes it, knows it not. Whoever knows it, wants it not
I have legs but never walk, I may have flowers but no soil, I hold food but never eat.
What goes through the door without pinching itself? What sits on the stove without burning itself? What sits on the table and is not ashamed?
To unravel me you need a simple key, no key that was made by locksmith's hand. But a key that only I will understand.
I heard of a wonder, of words moth-eaten. That is a strange thing, I thought, weird. That a man's song be swallowed by a worm. His blinded sentences, his bedside stand-by rustled in the night - and the robber-guest. Not one wit the wiser. For the words he had mumbled.
What do you purposefully put lots of in and on your body, but run away from when you encounter it outside?