Every time I bite, I loose a tooth; Never fear, plenty more under my roof.

I am always above you, but never in the sky. I can be decorated, but have no face. I hold up the roof, but have no hands. What am I?

I’m a frozen moment in plain sight, within a frame that holds it tight.

You can fiddle it, it's not a device. Bent or straight, it depends how you hold it. Don't fiddle in public, it's impolite. As you grow you stop sucking on it.

I bring the colours, I am in your step. I arch, bend and stretch, Yet I hold my shape.