Iron Bloom

I found the old hoe today,

behind the mower’s gray case,

its iron head gone to bloom

in a fierce, orange embrace.

Not a gentle, quiet fading,

but a spreading, rough disease,

a flaking, gritty skin

that clings to metal trees.

It’s the slow surrender, isn't it?

The way strength turns to dust.

A beautiful decay,

built on time and rust.