What’s stepped on in order to be carved? Made in order to be taken. Or chosen at a fork?

They say, I am mightier than the sword It’s true, but only if the enemy can read.

I start with the end of a cough My middle is the sound of the second of women I finish with the middle of the nation What am I?

I bind and mend with a sticky embrace, sealing secrets in a silent race. My roll spins round with adhesive grace, holding things in their rightful place.

We take and take from womb to grave But never have our fill The more we try to hold the thing The weaker grows the will But give it to another and A life you shall refill