I can be woven from willow or wood, Filled with fine cheeses and everything good. A festive delivery, a holiday treat, Packed full of luxuries for people to eat.

I can stretch and bounce, erase mistakes, and roll as a wheel. What am I?

I mimic the whirring of a giant's wings, yet carry no feathers, only the sound that the air brings. What am I?

A precursor to fire, gone in a flash. A moment of light, not made to last. Caused by friction, with enough conviction.

I have faces but no eyes, I have teeth but cannot bite. Roll me right, and your fortunes will rise; Pair me with a lady, and success is in sight.