Roses and Rust

In gardens where the memories sleep,
Where iron gates no longer weep,
The roses climb on rusted frames,
Through oxidized and forgotten names.

Red petals kiss corroded steel,
Where time’s slow teeth begin to peel
The paint from yesterday’s remains,
While beauty breaks through weathered chains.

An ancient trellis, autumn-worn,
Holds fast despite its metal torn,
As climbing vines with gentle might
Transform decay to pure delight.

The chemistry of love and loss
Blooms copper-green with velvet gloss,
Where nature’s grace so softly bleeds
Through metal’s slow dissolving needs.

Sweet perfume mingles with the scent
Of rain on iron, heaven-sent,
While morning dew drops gently rust
The dreams we left to gather dust.

In this strange marriage of decline
And growth, the boundaries intertwine —
The living and the fading dance
In oxidation’s slow romance.

So let the garden tell its tale
Of strength and softness, rich and frail,
Where roses bloom through rusty lace,
Time’s beauty wearing time’s disgrace.

For in this weathered paradise,
Both death and life command their price,
Yet something perfect still remains
Where roses bloom through rusty chains.