I hold what’s worn and quietly wait, Yet I can slow you down by holding on. A basket of pauses, a verb of delay What am I?

Three letters make up my name, I twist, I slide and slither all the same. In rivers or oceans I wriggle with ease, What am I that moves as I please?

Everyone has one, but not everyone gets theirs. It’s often found at night, but can be troublesome during the day. It can inspire or scare.

What has six faces, but does not wear makeup, has twenty-one eyes, but cannot see?

What runs around the whole yard without moving?