My last four are a staple crop, Thats also known as maize, If you'd kept me away from the squirrel, We might have stayed in the ice age, My first is a simple vowel, That is not found in oil, south, or tie, I grow into a strong tree, What am I?

I have feet but no legs, and a back but no spine. I am a wooden path that leads nowhere, floating where the salt meets the pine. I welcome the wanderer back from the foam, Providing a tether, a gateway to home.

Where logs line up to meet their fate, Kissing a blade on their very first date. Turning lumber to planks without much fuss, Enjoy the result, but pardon our dust.

Long and thin like an eel, can be stored on a reel. I myself am not alive, but carry what is needed for life.

I borrow light and bend it wrong, to stretch the short and widen long. I don’t reveal what wasn’t there, I simply make it easier to stare.