A shellfish, a crafting tool, a beauty aid. You might open boxes with this mighty blade. Described a lot as sharp or keen, in pop sci-fi a ship I've been. Sized to fit your hand and cheaply sold, Im made of steel but worth my weight in gold.

I have feet, and up you climb, one foot in a line, in perfect time. Lean on me, I’ll lift you high, but take one slip, and down you’ll fly. I'm not a stair, though I compete, guess who I am beneath your feet?

A marker unseen, yet felt in your stride, acknowledging journeys and progress with pride. It stands at the juncture of past and new, heralding the distance you've journeyed through.

At two syllables, I am very common, drab and gray. My first sound could be a butt, my second could be blame. But do not blame it on the butt, even though that is nearly my name.

I am made of many grains and come from a mill. Heat me and smush me to make me useful. Cool me too fast and I'll crack like crust. Cut me and I'll sing.