Answer:
Squeeze me and I cry tears as red as my flesh, but my heart is made of stone. What am I?
The more it dries, the wetter it becomes. What is it?
It flies around all day but never goes anywhere? What is it?
Whoever makes it, tells it not. Whoever takes it, knows it not. Whoever knows it, wants it not. What am I?
I am the kind of a tree that is carried in your hand. What am I?
Two brothers we are, great burdens we bear. All day we are bitterly pressed. Yet this I will say, we are full all the day, and empty when go to rest.