I pierce and hold a wooden beam, or am painted with polish to shine and gleam. I protect your fingers, yet can fasten a brace, I’m found on walls or on a fingertip’s space.

Being trapped in a hall of me, Would give quite a view. You'd see me yet not see me, But there'd be a hundred of you.

A feathered traveler flying high; or steel and cable lifting loads with pride. Stretching forward for a better view; or granting wishes for me or for you.

A tower of flavors, spun with care, wrapped in tradition. Sizzling under the sun, it dances with spices, a street-side feast for eyes and tongue.

I resemble a cheese, but I do not grease. You can clean with me.