I'm a place where you view through the lens of the past. History lovers tend to have a blast. Where art lovers can nurture their inner critic, As they stand before each old painting and relic.

Carried by kings Wielded by greats Adorned in jewels Though I may have the shape of a stick, I assure you I'm not. What am I?

I was an icon in the heyday of Microsoft word whenever you needed help. But often people did not like me. Now I am relegated to holding documents and being bent out of shape to clean hard to reach places.

I am a fruit, often pickled and green, Or cured to a dark, oily sheen. From ancient groves, my bitter taste I glean.

Raised to honor someone momentous, I stand where all may look and adore