In corrugated clarion call
the metal shows its face,
revealing time’s persuasion;
surrendering with grace.

In weathered welts of years
the walls and roof have shed,
the brightness of beginning;
donned rusty cloaks instead.

In pock-marked perseverance,
they stand against the sun,
brace for bitter winter nights;
know that age has come.

In weeping shred of flakes,
they drop the skin of youth,
and offer toothless hope;
the years so soon reduced.

In dulled and dusted dressing,
they hold to shape and life,
as wearied, worn, decaying;
no longer shining bright.

In days of shuddered sleeping,
they hold horizon’s hand,
and echo tales forgotten;
lost part of someone’s plan.


3a : of the color rust  
  b : dulled in color or appearance by age and use <rusty old boots>

About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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