Threaded ballet where needle and thread dance, stitching tales in fabric's embrace, mending hearts and hems alike.

I’m white and puffy, and close at the hip. I make sure little ones don’t drip. I'm used for a short time, then tossed in the bin, to protect the world from what's within.

I arrive in a bottle but vanish in a shower, I fight with dirt but don’t have power. I make your crown feel fresh and light, Then disappear without a fight. What am I?

After it's opened for the first time, what's taken out is rarely put back in. The first four help take steps or climb The last three is something you're supposed to think outside of to win

A sticky tar sap. Needled skirt up to cap. Boarded in bulk. Shape hung: travels map.