Tall and silent, it reaches for the sky, a stone sentinel standing the test of time, marking tales untold. It points, not with fingers, but with ancient pride.

I come in all shapes and sizes. A gun, a sword, a spear. I turn all men to children if my form is unique. Some people prefer me over automatic.

I'm small and round a juicy delight that waits within; sometimes I'm dried, or in a pie, a sweet treat that makes taste buds fly. What am I?

I'm like something bigger, but not fully real. Fun for small people is my appeal. Toys and small furniture, friends may appear. My name with a space is the game they play here.

I am strung and light, held firm in hand, I strike or swing at your sporty command. I can smash a ball or stir a crowd, with every clash, I make a sound.