I start every race, Five steps closer to the line. Invisible boost.

I am a message that no pen has written, A voice from the past, but one you can hear. I take up no space, yet can fill a box, kept or discarded, year after year. What am I?

I fall from cans in silver streams, To wake up roots and feed their dreams. In gardens, fields, and pots I sing, Life awakens when I bring. Too little, plants begin to fade, Too much, and muddy mess is made. What am I, that nourishing thing, But make sure you add your ing.

Greetings riddlers! I made a new riddle, and I think... you will... really... like... ... ... ... zzzzz