Red Rust

Years of wind, rain, hail and shine, Years of straight lines of dust, Have slowly transformed this beautiful place, Into a place full of rust, Where whatever was white is now a brown river, Heading toward the ground, Slowly but surely eroding the smooth, Eroding away what was proud, But what we don’t see is the magic this makes, The magic both old and brand new, The magic of memories built up over time, Those memories for me and for you, With stories of living the hard life we both lived, Magic days with you my best friend, Living a life of create and enjoy, For years in that old rustic shed.