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.

I turn once, what is out will not get in. I turn again, what is in will not get out. What am I?

I live in a box, but I’m never alone, with colors galore, I brighten your zone. I’m short and I’m waxy, I love to parade in rainbows and scribbles that children have made. What am I?

I hide in a bag ‘til I’m needed to fly, Then open up wide as I float through the sky. I help you land gently, not fast like a stone. With me, you’re safe when you’ve jumped all alone! What am I?

What’s found on the ground, but never gets dirty?