I take what’s old and worn and used, What’s cracked or crushed or once abused. I sort the tired from the true, Then turn them into something new. I shrink the waste the world is piling. What am I, always re reviving and smiling?

I place with care, Harden with time, Begin the scene, Disappear at dusk. What word am I?

I stand without feet and block without hands. I hear every secret but never reply. I separate friends, yet hold buildings together. What am I?

A long strip of ribbon, From the sun, a delightful surprise given The aftermath of the rain long driven In the sky, a promise written Or at its end, precious metals rumored to lie hidden Those greedy fools that ignore how beautifully the sky is striven A bridge made to be traversed by the gods and the living

They have not flesh, nor feathers, nor scales, nor bone. Yet they have fingers and thumbs of their own. What are they?