I can strike glass without shattering it, yet sometimes I'm the one who breaks. What am I?

A length of lanolin that leads a life of larynx love. It’s weave waves in wind, a worthy warmth, when winter’s won. A hanging helper holding heat, has a handle on a hug. Food fed fast, or a fabric-fashioned-friend for frigid fun.

It covers a bay and pops, Keeps warm, what’s up on top. It deters falling water, Whether metal, or of cloth. Prop it up, or cinch it closed and tie the strings in a knot.

To gold, To gold, In times of old. Mixture, Mixture, Immortal elixir?

In rows we stand, red and stout, to build a wall that's strong, no doubt. Silent in duty, firm in place, a sturdy guardian of the space.