Paper takes new form, Folded dreams in silent flight, Birdsong in the hand.

Each guest I host kills the one before, My grip is firm but fleeting. A stiff back bears what won't endure My memory keeps deleting.

I drip when you're sad, A twist stops my tears, Hot or cold I provide, In kitchen or bath, I'm revered.

I am a deep, man-made hole in the earth, created by tearing away rock, stone, or sand. I hold secrets of the ground below, yet when I am filled with water, I become a place for a swim. What am I?

When pyjamas rule and shoes retire, I help warm your feet beside the fire.