The Blacksmith

By CinCCO

Mon, 17 Mar 2008
  • 877 reads
3 comments
 

The Blacksmith.
By Brian Kelly.

Iron hard, the Blacksmith's muscles glowed,
As copious sweat, from his body flowed.
Bell clear rang the anvil, to hammers blows,
As timeless labours honest effort flows.

Ox like strength, bends the steels together,
Rock solid, steady, controlling horse's tether.
Yet feather light, can be the Blacksmiths hand,
To comfort frightened horse, he strokes with magic wand.

Nights deathly silence, now sits o'er idle forge,
As blacksmith, from huge platter, takes deserv-ed gorge.
No foxy slyness, or deceit, in this man found,
To log like sleep he falls. His innocence profound.

Copyright Brian Kelly 17th. October 1997

Certificate U
Poem
Miscellaneous

Comments

Submitted by mykle on
Good morning Brain! Never even seen a blacksmith - but I had a friend who was a white smith… less muscular and sweaty and, in his case, although he was innocent, like so many others, he slept the sleep of the troubled.

Submitted by CinCCO on
Hello again Mykle, I hope the mispelling transposition of Brian in the salutation is a mistake. People generally do that to me when they are thinking that I am getting too big for my boots. In days of olde, when knights were bolde,(my younger days) there were blacksmiths working in almost every village and tucked in the back streets of towns. Any kid could and did, spend hours watching them work. Whitesmiths on the other hand did not have the same appeal. They did not have the furnace and the noise of the hammer and anvil. There were equally skilled in fabricating sheet metal, and are generally known as Tinsmiths. Regards, Brian Kelly.

Submitted by ismail on

Blacksmith, yes there were, I rember, this was good recalling