Answer:
What can stand in place of a country but still fold away in a drawer?
A house full, a yard full, a chimney full, no one can get a spoonful.
My sides are firmly laced about, Yet nothing is within; You'll think my head is strange indeed, Being nothing else but skin.
I can be written, I can be spoken, I can be exposed, I can be broken.
It is by nature, soft as silk; A puffy cloud, white as milk; Snow tops this tropical crop; The dirtiest part of a mop
What is always coming but never arrives?