Answer:
Crooked as a rainbow, and slick as a plate, Ten thousand horses can't pull it straight.
It's in your hand though you can not feel it. Only you and time can reveal it.
A circle of stones, never in rows. Stacked one on the other, mystery it sows. What is it?
What always goes to bed with his shoes on?
Bury deep, Pile on stones, My mind will always Dig up them bones
They are many and one, they wave and they drum, Used to cover a state, they go with you everywhere.