Woven walls embrace, carrying a cornucopia of treasures. From picnics to laundry, I cradle all with grace.

I'm actually a type of engine, though that is not my associated name. Instead I help churn, that for which will burn, as it moves ever or sits idly. When you're at the pump, make sure you grab the right one, where you may be behind a convoy.

I’m not a jacket, also not quite a coat, in water i keep you afloat. Worn for fashion or just for warmth, but sleeveless is my passion.

I’m circular, yet never a ring, I’m often buckled, a faithful thing. I hold the line where the fabric ends, and sometimes I’m a friend of fashion trends.

A path with walls, a winding craze Find your way through: I’m a