Where the path meets its end, A steadfast friend, not one to bend. Keeps the wanderers' pace in place, A gentle wall, a quiet space.

I have four legs but cannot walk, I hold your food while you sit and talk. I’m not a dog, I’m not a chair, You put your plates and cups on there.

I'm a dating app or kindling

I have no sharp corners, no start and no end, yet I can make a promise or announce a calling friend.

I’m a painting on a wall, Made on wet plaster so I won’t fall. In old churches I’m the star of the show, What kind of painting am I? Do you know?