Four of us are in your field
But our differences keep us at yield

First, a one that is no fool
Though he resembles a gardener’s tool

Next, one difficult to split in two
And a girl once had one as big as her shoe

Then, to the mind, one’s a lovely bonder
And truancy makes it grow fonder

Last, a stem connecting dots of three
Knowing all this, what are we?

Do not begrude this,
For it is the fate of every man.
Yet it is feared,
And shunned in many lands.
Causes problems, and sometimes gaps,
Can hobble the strongest, and make memory laps.
What is this danger we all face?
For being a part – of the human race.

I have palms but not on hands,
I offer foods from distant lands,
When at my peak you’ll see me smoke,
I’m famous for my friendly folk,
My flowers grow and yet they lay,
There’s fire where a man will play,
I’m sure you know we’re family,
You’re welcome to come stay with me.

What am I?

I’m usually quite pleasant
As you roam and play,
But if you look into my eyes,
I’ll not look away.

Once you turn away from me,
I’ll attack if I stay dry,
Better grab a pail of water,
I’ll not stop until I die.

What am I?