Sometimes fair and sometimes foul, The measure of the steel. Often lost and rarely found, A gauge of how you feel. What is it?
Four legs have I, a sturdy fellow A fuzzy back that isn't yellow But (often) green or (rarely) red A den is where I make my bed My keepers feed me coloured balls With sticks they store on my den walls Sometimes I store them in my pouch Sometimes deep in my belly; ouch! That's when you'll see me acting strange Instead of balls, I'll eat your change And that's my cue to feed again Chalk it up to hunger, friend!
Every nation do I know, But so rarely do I go Anywhere, Sometimes people Come and stare, Touch me here, And poke me there, Spin me round, Then leave me alone When what they sought, They have found. What am I?
A house with two occupants, sometimes one, rarely three. Break the walls, eat the boarders, then throw away me. What am I?
