Ancient things congregate here, For your viewing pleasure they do appear. Whether it an exhibition of a bygone time, Or the heritae of a long lost family line, Here great pleasure is found, In remembering what may lie in the ground.

Born in flame, yet not destroyed, From ash and ember I’m redeployed. Time may fell me, age may press, But death itself I simply reset. What am I?

Wild West winds whisked my name to fame; barkeep and miner, gambler and sheriff all the same. I chased the buffalo and panned for gold, yet a row at the O K Corral is the tale most told.

A place for damsels held. Steel and iron, stack and weld. Broadcasting voices from its peak: its beacon’s silent yell. Tolkien’s two: an easy tell. Rapunzel used to dwell. It’s silhouette on a stormy night, top stories: fright it sells.

A powerful tactical unit, under Napoleon I was feared, Oh he's French, that's why my spelling is so weird, Okay let's march, don't be quiet, let me hear you roar, One two three four, I love the Marine...