Answer:
We are five little objects of an everyday sort, You will find us all in a tennis court.
Screaming, soaring seeking sky. Flowers of fire flying high, Eastern art from ancient time, Name me now and solve this rhyme.
Through its wounds, water does run. It once held many but now has none. What is it?
A hole leading in, a hole leading out, we connect to a cavern that is slimy all throughout. What are we?
My first is in blood and also in battle. My second is in acorn, oak, and apple. My third and fourth are both the same. In the center of sorrow and twice in refrain. My fifth starts eternity ending here. My last is the first of last, Oh Dear.
Do what he says and you'll be fine, don't and you lose the game.