My balance is fickle, I sway side to side. I’m neither a sprint nor a confident stride. A rhythm of roundness, ungainly applied.

I touch the land but never stay, I am an edge that’s on a bay Ever changing, touching your feet Where earth and endless water meet.

If you want my return then toss me aside but with greater care I'll bag you a hare.

We go marching one by one. One of us stops to suck his thumb, afraid of what's to come. The seven left, pray to heaven. Those who were late guard the gate. While a ruler remains watching us live and die to create more like us to take our places

I can store data but have no brain, I float in the sky but feel no pain, Who am I ?