The process starts with a wheel spinning fast, Onto it, a wet blobby lump is cast. As fingertips shape it and sharp edges loom, Without me, it never escapes muddy doom.

A twin with soleful steps, it travels where you tread. Wrapped around your feet, a silent companion in life's journey.

A giant that whispers through the skies, born of fabric and air, it floats with grace, yet knows the flames' embrace.

A silly face, Way up high, Hard to crack, But sweet inside.

I have no legs, yet I travel miles. I brave rough paths and muddy trials. When weather turns, I’m often chosen. What am I?