The smith.

From spark to ember to blazing heart..

The bellows howl a mournful song..

Shadows dance and writhe with the life of the flame…

Embers fly as the steal glows in the dark…

Sweat drips,

the bellows roar,

the hammer falls,

Corded muscle burns, twist and fold…

Strike tap tap strike tap tap, is that the hammer..

Or the heart of the smith…

Nothing but effort will draw beauty from fire..

Rivers pour from his broad shoulders..

Eyes look golden reflecting the heat..

Still the hand does not falter..

Hour by hour with the artists touch..

Metal flows and becomes a rose.

Best wishes -SirHanz

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