The Smithy's Lament

By
Sweat beads and streaks rivers down your face
As you tend the inferno
Forging more and more until you have a substantial amount to work
It seems as though it will never be finished
But still you press on, nearing completion
How on Earth could it ever be done?
The hammer falls again and again with minimal progress
Then back into the fire, to do it again
But you know the end is near
You know that you are almost done
Cast from the very earth itself
Then thrown into the icy water
Hours and hours it took
And hours and hours still left
Grinding and sharpening and polishing day in and day out
And there it is a worthy item
And there it is a finished sword
Such care and elegance went into it
Only to be stained by the blood of a fallen foe





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