A two-wheeled transport from the past, To add two more, remove my last. Different beasts can steer my course, But don’t put me before the horse.

At the start of an intro or the end of a line Fish might get caught on it while they dine With a curve and a point it draws them in And in writing it is there to make you listen

I am your border for privacy, or simply to add scenery. I can be made from many materials, and many old dreams have a white version of me.

I have four legs but never walk, Host naps like royal talk. I eat crumbs, steal socks, hear secrets and TV squawks. I’m not a bed, yet dreams occur. Guests argue who gets my spot. What am I?

I turn about to let you in, Once you pass you’ll see my twin, Clothed in plate I hold the door, Until I turn about once more.