Blacksmith
The tongue strikes the palate
A blacksmith striking, words
Sparking from his mouth
Sentences hammering into shape
As with all blacksmiths
Start first with the tools
Forging each clumsily at first
Experience making the hammer
Surer with each strike
The armor better molded
The sword sharper
The tool more resilient
The forge withstanding blows
Poor and smart alike
When the raw red ore pools
The throat opens, the bellows pump
The sand gives shape
The blacksmith hammers with increasing skill
Until he has mastery over the hammer
Knowing the skill will leave
Or the arm will weaken
Then the blacksmith will have earned his rest
Having passed on all he could
To his apprentice
Categories: Poetry
apprenticeship, blacksmith, fatherhood, Holy, parenting, passing, work
I love it. I would change it to a She.
Thank you! I went back and forth on using a gender pronoun at all, but this eventually stuck.
I agree, a ‘She,’ is what I thought of as I read, but still – very nice post!