The Blacksmith
A smile faint, but none the less
It's there within his eyes,
As the fire and the coals begin to burn.
Now, his hand is on the hammer
And the smoke begins to rise;
Along with lasting memories that blacksmith's earn.
Ten generations brought to him,
Much more than just the tools,
As he worked beside his father and the flame.
Learning very quickly,
It was not a trade for fools.
For thoughts and iron blacksmiths must learn to tame.
And though it's been so many years,
The hammer fits him well,
As the anvil reaches out to grasp his skill.
He's the master, the creative art,
That time cannot dispel.
For he's never lost the blacksmith's flaming will.
Copyright © Robert Nehls | Year Posted 2014
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment