Poem

[Frank S]

Said the hammer to the anvil
I’ll beat and I’ll pound on the metal so hot
Anvil to the hammer swing away ol mate of mine
For we make products for the divine
My face is rounded from the years gone by
My back is strong to complain I will not
Your response each time I assail
Will be a sound of beauty
For tis my duty
We are the beginnings of things necessary for life
So with each and every strike
I’ll sing out with that sound that rings.
While the smith does swing me straight and true
I’ll leave the singing up to you.
Today we make some special thing.
Mayhap it will be a ring.
Or plow shall it be
What will come is not up to me.