In the land o' clover where gold does spin, a twirl of luck pulls ye in. Round and round, like a pixie's dance, in a whirlwind's trance.

My first is a tool with all teeth and no face. It chews into wood like a beaver, but it is not alive. My second is a place where the turn of a wheel turns gold into food. Put both halves together and you get a place where a woodchuck could chuck

I exist only as between, A difference felt, a space unseen. I borrow motion, give it back, Then leave no proof I crossed your path.

Hold me, Spin me, Put me down. Label me, cover me, Your message, bound.

I speak without a mouth, I reply when you shout, I chase every sound as it wanders about. In caves I grow loud, in rooms I stay low. I mimic your words but I’m not who you know. Clap once, I answer twice; chase me fast or slow.