The Blacksmith

Sparks flying free and wild splashed against the door.
Blackened smoke and steam rose up to meet the roof.
Melodic sounds of banging passed through solid wall.
So it was the way to shoe a horses hoof.

He was famed throughout the land for skills possessed
The magician of the quarried iron ore,
And with slight of hand, produce a work of art.
The likes of which had never been seen before.

To look on him was to see a man of power.
His muscles rippled with every hammer blow.
The flowing sweat ran in beads from off his chin.
Features lit by the furnaces fiery glow.

And then when it came the time to teach the young,
how to mould the anvil round the reddened rod.
His joy knew no bounds when success prevailed
and gave his apprentice an approving nod.