The Silent Gears

Iron teeth, once sharp and bright, Now softened by a coat of rust. The hum of labor fades away, Returning steel to silent dust.

Vines creep slowly, seeking hold, Around the shafts and frozen wheels. Where industry once loudly roared, A quiet, green embrace congeals.

The forest takes what once was hers, A steady march of root and leaf. The gears are still, the work is done, In slow decay, a sweet relief.