It can hang or be stuck, Done on walls, trains and trucks, A game for the kids, Or through phones, as adults.

A living line of green I stand, Between two plots of careful land. I block the view, but not the breeze, Shaped by hands and buzzing bees. What am I?

It begins a race, Or stops a game A bird's call for a mate, Or a human's, on the sidewalk

I'm in lights, flames, and stars, Not a brightness but a lapse. Not a twinkle, glint, or shimmer, But from an old word 'softly flap'. Remove the first letter you'll see: with outstretched tongue I'm what you are. Change first vowel after that, I'm a school book's prison sans cloth, sometimes bars.

I can spark in your hand or clash in a ring, I can pair two hearts like a pull on a string. I light up the dark or decide who has won, what am I when three meanings become one?