I lie beneath the ground, where I bloat and wait. With many eyes, yet I cannot see.My story is one of feast and famine. The colour of gold, yet in hard times,I'm more precious than treasure. What am I?

I'm known for eating honey, though I'm not picky at all. I'll even raid your trash barrels if they smell good at all. Some say I'm scary, some say I'm cute, some train me to do tricks; But I just want your basket when you go on pick-a-nicks

You'll find me in an emerald field or in a farrier's bag. I'm in the paws of sweet bunnies and on the hooves of Ma's old nag. A coin heads up might summon me; black cats might scare away. Cross your fingers and your toes and maybe I might stay.

I could be in outer space, or your living room carpet could be my place. I'm known for being filled with dust, in my fatality you can trust.

I sing but have no mouth, I listen to the wind but have no ears long and metal made of me, you may see me hang from a tree