I draw the curtain on the sun, and wake the stars up one by one.

I was born from a tree, but I have no leaves. I have a sole but no spirit, and a tongue but cannot speak.

I hang outside but never fall, I’m not a room, yet part of all. With rails to guard and views so wide, People stand on me outside.

High above on swaying trees, I grow where warm winds ride the breeze. Though called a nut, I wear that wrong, In halves, I mimic hoofbeats’ song.

I have many stamps but no letters, what am I?