Answer:
My prefix is food. My suffix is rude. My infix comes in rounds. I keep you off the ground. What Am I?
Screaming, soaring seeking sky. Flowers of fire flying high, Eastern art from ancient time, Name me now and solve this rhyme.
I have split the one into five. I am the circle that few will spy. I am the path that breaks and gives. I am the bow no man may bend.
You throw away the outside, eat the inside, then throw away the inside. What is it?
What gets wetter as it dries?
What did the piece of wood say when he saw the screwdriver and screws approaching?