I open paths you can’t go through. I turn but only you will move. When you lay thee down to sleep, protection through the night, I’ll keep. Lest you forget to use me right, someone may wake you with a fright.

What’s stepped on in order to be carved? Made in order to be taken. Or chosen at a fork?

Folded neatly by your side, I wait through courses served with pride. I save your clothes from every stain, though I myself won’t stay the same.

They say, I am mightier than the sword It’s true, but only if the enemy can read.

I bind and mend with a sticky embrace, sealing secrets in a silent race. My roll spins round with adhesive grace, holding things in their rightful place.