Rinse and repeat, I might become this I may call or write, but I'll never be missed If making a typo, a tool, I become And the fruit of my labor is spread by some

I’m a wooden road with four rolling feet, I carry you fast without a single seat. I love the park, the rail, the curb, the stair One kick, one push, and suddenly you’re there. What am I?

I speak without a mouth and write without a pen. I travel through walls but never take a step. I can be caught, but never held. I can be broken without being touched. What am I?

I can hide in the attic or drift in the wind, I’m soft as a whisper but born from heat. I vanish with water, yet I tell of fire’s past. What am I?

I’m born when you remove me. I’m lost when you add me. I’m shared without leaving. I’m stolen without taking. Name me, and I vanish.