It is as light as a feather, yet the strongest of men cannot hold it for more than a minute. It is with you from the day you are born to the day you die. It can be as putrid as onions and garlic, yet as pleasant as freshly picked roses. What is it?
I’m hard as a rock, and as light as a feather. I’m passed on to one another. Poor people need me, and rich people have me.
What am I?
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