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I have a name, but it isn't my name. My face shows signs of age. I always mean the same thing, no matter what I say. I'm born in mourning, and I last 'til the end of days. Men plant me, but I never grow. They run from me, but I never move. They look at me and see their future, rotting in the fields where I bloom. What am I?
Did you know the answer?
Part of me is in a woman ready to be married but not in birds. Another part of me is in the same woman's partner and in company. Another part of me can be in four, five, six, seven or eight, but not in one, two, three, or nine. My other part... I'm not quite kind enough to show up anywhere. Jeez...that's not the right order, I'm mixed up. What's the word?