A smith’s vision of molten steel.
Best ore gathered, starts a fire.
The smithy sighs in anticipation.

Bellows breathing strength into metal.
Blue-drenched blaze licks at orange.
Shadows twirl upon the ceiling.
Happy flames dance to exhaustion.
Glowing red mould sizzles with glee.

The anvil shouts for attention.
The smith complies and laughs,
swinging his hammer rhythmically.
Waters tempers as water should.

Scraping, banging, reheating and more.
Repetition by a Master,
writing his steely song.
The filing starts the gruelling task
of refining the near perfect.

And the smith beholds his art:
a plow for a new season.

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