I never stitch with thread or twine, Yet I make scattered pages align. With jaws that open, jaws that close, I leave behind a silver rose. No carpenter would call me kin, Though metal teeth lie tucked within. I bite without a drop of pain, Then hold my victims fast again. I work where letters come to life, Where students study day and night. On desks I patiently remain, Bringing order from the paper rain. Feed me little strips of steel, Then press me down with steady zeal. Though small in size, I'm strong enough To tame the wildest paper stuff. What am I?

I'm small enough to fit your hand, Once I ruled the playground land, I love to race and spin around, Until I'm lost and can't be found, Some people claim they've lost me too, Though not the way you'd think they do, If thoughts seem scattered, so they say, What am I that rolled away?

I come in lots of different shapes and sizes, but I am always one foot long

I’m bitter when freshly picked. You will have to cure me before I’m edible. Press me if you want to use me for cooking. I also like burly sailors with tattoos.

I frame a garden green and bright, with leafy walls both neat and light.