I am a wall that loves to learn, I keep all lessons without a page. I am full when you write, empty when you wipe. What am I?

A part of something bigger, separated from the whole To miss the fairway by a mile, or cut with fine control

I am checked every few minutes, as if that will make me change faster.

The sky's winking smile, a silver tip that glows awhile. Bread's gentle curve in morning light, both hint at a time of night.

I hold the start of human breath, And rock between young life and death. With wooden arms and curved feet, I swing to bring a slumber sweet. No singer am I, yet I sway, To put to rest the busy day.