In a court of green or blue, I dance with strings in view. My sound can score or annoy, in games of skill or joy.

Under ancient arbor, a relic rests; a script of stones, silent sentinels of sagas sung. Whispering wisdom, woven in weathered whispers, it guards the groves of time, guiding the growing green.

Envious, lately. Mint to the lamb, Spread to smear, Can-mate to ham

I come in different forms like king and queen, I can provide you a opportunity to see your dream

Oh my stars, round and full of zest, bouncing high with youthful quest. Dribbles like rain on a summer's day, through hoops it flies in a playful display.