Pick it, grind it, swing it, and now for fun, throw it at a target.

One man's trash is another one's treasure

It dispenses medicine in tiny bits. Or t looses certan letters from ts mtts.

Round and round I go Where will I stop? Nobody knows. Sometimes I have horses and carriages, Other times mythological beasts or you feel like you've gone to the zoo.

From rooftops I may often hang, silent, cold, and sharp as a fang. Though made of water, I feel like stone, In winter’s grasp I’ve slowly grown.