Eleven siblings have I And I am number ten I should have been the eighth But we got jumbled up again Between the last and first of us They always drop the ball And just before I rest the Weird and wicked come to call What am I?

I spread my limbs up to the air My children fall upon the ground Or do I tint a coat of mare? A tired joke gone round and round But you'd be wrong If you had thunk I was a loon Inside a trunk

I close out light or lose my sight, In slats or senses, day or night. I dim the world or fail to find, what others see, I leave behind.

I am a humble servant, a giver of things, though I possess no hands. I stand in kitchens, bathrooms, and sometimes by the door, dispensing what the user demands. With a push or a pull, a twist or a squeeze, I make the task so grand.

I can keep belongings safe, doors secure, or be a strand of hair. My only weaknesses are a hammer, a thief, or a gust of wind.