Answer:
What is it that makes tears without sorrow. And takes its journey to heaven?
A dagger thrust at my own heart dictates the way I'm swayed. Left I stand and right I yield to the twisting of the blade. What am I?
I keep growing and am practically indestructible. I get eaten, but always come back. I survive cold and lie everywhere. You see me everyday. What am I?
I stand in one place yet I fill a whole room. I can be filled with molten rock and come in every hue.
I have hundreds of ears but cannot hear a thing. What am I?
What did the piece of wood say when he saw the screwdriver and screws approaching?