A golem of straw In fields where crops lay A guardian among corn To scare murders away

I have a jaw but cannot bite. I have no hands but hold on tight. I turn things round but never dance. I twist your fate, given the chance.

Where iron binds and hope wears thin, a place where few escape once in.

I'm the last one to the party, always lagging behind, Sometimes I'm a bit of a flirt, the last of my kind. Though I hold up the rear, I'm the one you'll always find.

Mostly water, green in hue, In a pickle jar I’m something new.