My sides are woven, not sewn shut, yet still I do my part. I gladly hold what others pick, before the feast can start.

A place at home where green ambitions take root, tended by patient hands until buried life rises.

I am an empty pocket until you slide me on. I hug a soft cushion when the day is done

A popular way to carry a frozen treat, a geometric shape. A post vet visit prison that our four legged friends hate.

I’m smaller than nickels and cents, Though value-wise, I make good sense. With Roosevelt's crest, And a torch on my chest, Ten cents is my standard expense!