Beneath the rust, where time leaves its trace,
She stands, a quiet beacon of grace.
Her eyes hold the weight of unspoken dreams,
Soft as the sun through golden seams.
The bars may frame, but cannot confine,
A beauty so fierce, yet gentle, divine.
Each strand of hair, each curve, each line,
Echoes a truth: all forms align.
For beauty is not in what meets the eye,
But in moments like these, where spirits fly.
Through iron and shadow, her light persists,
Proof that the timeless always exists
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