I travel the world but have no legs, I carry your words without any pegs. I can bring joy or deliver despair, And reach you quickly from anywhere.

I follow you close but never lead, I grow or shrink with light’s own speed. I have no voice, no weight, no form, Yet flee the dark and die at noon.

I travel the world but never take a step. I carry your secrets, both tidy and a mess. I'm packed full of plans, yet I make none myself.

History and legions, Both comprise my kind, A milestone, so rarely spanned, All this time, entwined

Six I contain, first half a cage, that protects what is vital, or a wet napped entree. Last half chefs say, before you engage, before a petit, twice confection of Le’. Together it sways, follows swung path you lay, or adorned on a gift, added to decorate.