I stretch through space, yet hold things tight, a cosmic spiral of distant light.

I drift above the world without wings, held aloft by what is lighter than the air around me. My frame is long and rigid, a quiet giant shaped by gas and metal. Crowds look up as I pass, slow enough to study, large enough to remember. I am neither plane nor balloon, yet something between the two. What am I?

A DIYers most helpful friend, always there when you need it to lend a hand. It's there for work, and for those fun side projects, too, it's quite popular amongst your crew. Carry your tools, or various materials you may need, from scrap to metals, from sod to seed; yes, quite a useful thing indeed.

Appearing with the tide, Disappearing under a wave. One day here, thr next day gone. Some people collect me, Others throw me back to sea.

I wander far on wings of mail, a lightweight traveler, thin and frail. Stamped with care, no wrapper's hide, just ink and views from lands I've spied. From beach or peak, a memory's trace, greetings short in a pictured space. No box confines my brief delight, connecting hearts through day and night.