Answer:
Has feathers but can't fly. Rests on legs but can't walk.
Walk on the living, they don’t even mumble. Walk on the dead, they mutter and grumble
We are few to the wise; We are abundant to the drunken; We can calm the beast and are precious to the child; We can devour the heart, without piercing the skin
You can always see it, but it's too far away to touch. Mountains rest on it, and at sea it surrounds you. What is it?
A circle of stones, never in rows. Stacked one on the other, mystery it sows. What is it?
What is always coming but never arrives?