Poem of Steel

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.

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