In the morn, a quick scrape by my side, A flick of the wrist, smooth skin abides. Steady hand and gentle glide, A daily dance where stubble confides.

Crack me open, stir me fast, A little butter makes me last. Neither fried nor hard to peel, I'm a fluffy morning meal. What am I?

Born from flour, eggs, and milk, My golden coat is smooth as silk. Flip me once, but not too late, Or breakfast may not taste so great. What am I?

I am featherd and fly but I am no bird. When drawn, I show you the way. To launch, you will need to take a bow first. And there's a TV show named after me.

I feed on fuel that's dense and thick, No glowing spark makes my heart click. High pressure warms my breathing chest, To pull heavy loads at your request.