In the palm of my hand, a matchbox small, A relic of days when flames stood tall. An arrow signal etched with care, A vintage glow in a world less aware.Igniting memories of a bygone age, Where fire\'s dance adorned life\'s stage. But scarce they are, those matchbox days, In the shadows of light\'s modern maze.One lone arrow, a symbol so clear, Guiding the flame, dispelling the fear. Yet now it\'s a rarity, a collector\'s find, As technology\'s march leaves tradition behind.Hold it close, this matchbox dear, A symbol of moments that persevere. For in its simplicity, a tale is spun, Of arrows, flames, and days long gone.-NAIF SAFAD
