And so it lay, shaded by the green and growth of the forest.
Its once huge metal frame, now resting, corroded and raw.
A myriad of mold festering upon its broken form.
The leaves and the rot becoming one with it.
The hulking titan once stepped silently through the forest.
A spotlight attached to what one could only describe as its face.
Clawing its way through the trees with antenna towers for legs.
A once marvelous thing, a work of nature, a work of imagination.
Now reduced to a work of the forests influence.
And so, I rest my hand upon it, running my fingers across its broken frame.
Letting myself get caught on the rust, and the rot.
I climb the towering titan, I climb and reach its top.
And proceed to wipe clean the spotlight that once lit up the night.
I sit upon it, and sing songs to it, and gently oil its ruined joints.
And pray that one day, one beautiful day.
It may yet again be more than a piece of memorabilia