A time when they're green. A time when they're brown.
But both of these times, cause me to frown.
But just in between, for a very short while.
They're perfect and yellow. And cause me to smile.
The sun bakes them,
The hand breaks them,
The foot treads them,
The mouth tastes them.
Searing 'cross the pitch-black skies,
I scream in celebration,
Yet moments later, my outburst through,
I am naught but imagination.
I always run but never walk,
I sometimes sing but cannot talk,
No head on which a hat to place,
You always look me in the face.
Often held but never touched.
Always wet but never rusts.
Often bits but seldom bit.
To use it well you must have wit.
What am I?
Select a pack of riddles and try to solve it in an interesting way.
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