Answer:
You can read me both ways I wear; One way it's a number reversed a snare.
Sometimes dark and sometimes bright, I make my way among twinkling lights. Seas and oceans obey my call, yet mountains I cannot move at all. What am I?
I have a name written on me, but it isnβt my name. Men plant me, but I never grow. They look at me and see their future, rotting in my bloom.
Wind and cord combine, buzzing in the box. In all this we find, though to some the use is lost. What am I?
I am what bring things together. Without me everything you see would be a total mass or debris everywhere.
A little house full of meat, no door to go in and eat.