I am the ancient wages of the soldiers march, The white rot of iron and the crumbling of the arch, I am the tears of the earth left behind by the tide, Where the thirsty find death with water on every side.

Be it on traffic or on pines above, Be it a warning or a life to come, I can be bright orange or perfectly brown, Can you write my name down?

My fingers dance on ivory white, A tickling tune, a thrilling sight. But sometimes, lower keys I crave at night. Who am I?

Pronounced with one letter, but written with three, The letter that is, is similar to me. I rest in the center of winds, calm as ever, I'm easy to close, it's like flicking a lever. I come in many shades and hues, Of browns and greens and greys and blues.

I’m the main thoroughfare of the home, the connector between one room and the next. I’m usually adorned with photos or artwork. In schools, lockers usually line me between classrooms.