Left is right and right is left, but that's not really true; what you see when you see me, is what I see of you.

I never move, yet travel far, an iron spine of a thousand bars. I sometimes stop, but never arrive, and carry cars that do not drive. What am I?

I involve needles, but I do not involve medicine. You need weave to complete me.

Warmth between layers, a golden graham kiss, Softness meets sweet in twilight bliss. Crushed beneath stars, the crunch ignites, A fleeting taste of summer nights.

Big or small, square or round, bundled neatly on the ground. I bask in fields to dry and pale, then feed the beasts from trough or pail. Through winter’s chill, I earn my keep, their midday meal when grass must sleep.