Antique
I whisper of long ago,
And within me I hold the slow murmurs of time.
Although you might buy me,
Thou art mine.
I capture the attention of the old.
In me, they see aspects of their youth,
While I imprison the souls of the young.
They find me fascinating.
I weathered the tides of war,
I survived wreckage and fire,
In a world with no constants,
I remain.
I am naught but antique.
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