From Shirley Temple to Bing, I’ve been picked for fame. I appear in many forms though I answer one name. I can be fresh, preserved, or dried in a row, yet copies of me are what many folks know. I’m often on top, but I’m rarely the focus, a finishing touch, a flourish, a bonus. I’m pitted by nature, though blameless and sweet, a small red addition that makes things complete.

Beside the road but made for feet, I’m smoother ground for calm retreat. Paved or tiled, I edge the way A safer stretch for your next day. What am I?

It carries you across the ground, a silent chaperone to every step, hugging the terrain while keeping your tread pristine.

Sealed inside a dubious gift, The lid, a curious woman did lift, Releasing every plague and sin, Save for me, still trapped within

I bring many things to life, with just one push. I also bind opposites together, and add flourish to the belly. What am I?