Gripping the tongs with my dirty hands,
Over the red steel, my careful eye scans
The bar of steel, colored bright red
Will, by my hands, become a warring spear head.
The heat on my brow,
The smell of the coal,
Takes on me at all, no toll.
Now I raise the hammer above the red steel,
And after a brief pause, I begin smashing with zeal.
The hammer begins to flatten the head out,
Every clang coming to my ear, as a joyful shout.
When it becomes much too cool, I place the head back in the blue flame,
Which I know for a fact, I must carefully keep tame.