Christopher Robin’s friend A drunken WW II political leader Spelled differently, the sound a horse makes

I can so small that I'm an edible medicine. I can be so large that I'm used as a computer. I can be made of stone to hold religious law. Or I can be made of wood to help you write.

Upon my skin are stories of old, My insides are all damp and cold, From the dawn of man's first fire, Shelter within has always transpired What am I?

In history, there was a time, when certain thoughts were heinous crimes. We now know the truth, that this is real, we're not the center, of the wheel

Settling on forgotten shelves, a silent dance in sunlight, born of decay yet a testament to time's breath.