I line the walls, a stoic crowd, Holding treasures, some humbly bowed. While in the quiet corners, I stand so still, Guarding secrets, if you will.

He was a nice guy, but his stories always got interrupted. He died when he couldn’t hold on any longer.

They say the world is round, but I am flat. What am I?

im a terrorist, a dictator, a murderer, a pedo, an orange. who am I?

What does Sally sell on the seashore regardless of it’s lack of rarity?