In lands of old, I stand so tall, a silent sentinel of stone. A storyteller in the square, pointing ever to the sky, yet never touching it.

In bubbles I rise and float high, To tackle the stains, I comply. In your hand I froth, Clean as a cloth, A slippery friend you apply.

In a shell, I reside all day, A fragile vault where secrets stay. With a crack, I reveal, My hidden appeal, A treasure inside, some do say.

Use me to light a spark, or swipe if I spark your interest.

I am proof that time can pause, that dead men still may speak. I ask for nothing but your eyes, yet change the way you think.