Answer:
I fly, yet I have no wings. I cry, yet I have no eyes. Darkness follows me. Lower light I never see.
What gets beaten, and whipped, but never cries?
With sharp edged wit and pointed poise. It can settle disputes without making a noise.
My love, when I gaze on thy beautiful face. Careering along, yet always in place, the thought has often come into my mind. If I ever shall see thy glorious behind.
What is the thing which, once poured out, cannot be gathered again?
Within, I clean all that is bad and is old. I make juice thatβs the color of gold. Should I die, a filter machine would you need assembled to replace me and beans I resemble.