I’m caught between two, yet I’m not in the middle, I let things swing with a simple little fiddle. I can open the way, then close it once more, Quietly working beside every door. Without me, movement would be hard to arrange. What am I that lets things move and change?

Man's first dwelling, a primitive home. If you're claustrophobic, you'd best leave these alone!

I am a wall that loves to learn, I keep all lessons without a page. I am full when you write, empty when you wipe. What am I?

A part of something bigger, separated from the whole To miss the fairway by a mile, or cut with fine control

I am checked every few minutes, as if that will make me change faster.