All things to rust succumb,As time's wheel turns and spins,This ruthless sculptor, unkind,Wears them down with its grind.Rust's quiet touch appears,Crowning surfaces with its sears.Yet in this decay, a grace,Beauty found in its embrace.Passion, strength, and stories told,In silent rest, their tales unfold.Engraved in rust, their history,A heart that will not fade away.

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