To some i open to a loving warm family. To others i open a cold room of solitude. Some take a deep breath in front of me to gather their nerves, because once they stick their foot in, everything else follows.

Five to start, where you are now, Not specific, but it’s this place. Add a ment, and it’s all about How something’s carefully put. The last three are where you wipe your shoes, At the door, not the rug inside. Put them together and you’re ready to eat, Especially for kids, keeping food clean.

I’m thrown, I’m sold, I’m heard, And I’m steep What am I?

The sparkle of dew when a winter morning awakens, and the famous writer of the road not taken

I sing by day, and whistle by night. I may give a gentle kiss, or a stinging bite. I move without being seen, though my works may be visible. My temper can be volatile, making anything divisible. Whether leaves or a house, no weight is too great. But without me, a large ship in water may just stagnate. What am I?