Love, once vibrant, now tinged with rust,
A bittersweet tale of passion's gust.
Like weathered iron, it may corrode,
But steadfast hearts will still withhold.
Through trials faced and battles fought,
Love's strength endures, cannot be bought.
Though rust may mar its shiny sheen,
Its essence lingers, forever keen.
For love, like metal, gains its worth,
Withstands the tests that life brings forth.
In every crevice, love's story lies,
A testament to how hearts can rise.
So let the rust be but a mark,
A testament to love's sacred spark.
For in its imperfections, we find,
A love that's real, profound, and kind.
