Writing through time

A treasure, the light of the darkest of my days,
Shines in front of everything else,
It gives the warmness, as if sitting in front of fire,
I might know the time here,
But it enables me to know the time everywhere.

The base reminds me of the coal mines,
The design of shimmering gold,
And it leaves out what reminds me of,
The inky dark blue night sky.

It’s as if been polished by the finest fabric,
Never loses its sparkling glare,
Design reminds me of an ancient clock.
And as long as a green anaconda it’s antiquity.

I bring it to school every day,
No one lays a finger on it without asking,
It’s not a watch as people think,
But is dear to me as a delicate baby.

If there was a person who could tell the future,
They would say that the day I fear is when,
I have to pass the mantle piece of history down.