Answer:
Walk on the living, they don’t even mumble, Walk on the dead, they mutter and grumble. What are they?
I grow where no flower grows, where no light touches the walls, up or down, that I don't care, was here before people were.
What is the thing which, once poured out, cannot be gathered again?
My head bobs lazily in the sun. You think I'm cute. For my face is yellow my hair is white and my body is green.
Covered in stone and sun. It's home to many but also none. What is it?
I’m grown from darkness but shine with a pale light. Very round I am and always a lady's delight.