Large Fierce Mammal

Literally going at it hammer and tongs (click to enbiggen … if you dare)

The Blacksmith’s Son

By LFM

The Blacksmith’s Son arose one night
From dreams of dark desire.
He set the smithy lamps alight,
And stoked the forging fire.

He worked the bellows carefully,
He tended every coal,
Until each matched his passion,
And the flame that seared his soul.

When forge and passion burned the same
He grasped the billet tight,
And then he swung the hammer in
With all his passion’s might.

His hammer rang throughout the night,
He gleamed with sweat of toil,
And when the length and shape were right
He quenched the thing in oil.

He rasped away the forging scale
And buffed it to a sheen.
Beneath that morning’s rising sun
No fairer one had been.

Then came a sound as from afar,
And all became unreal.
He recognized his Father’s voice
Had uttered some appeal.

T’was then a hazy mist arose,
And filled his whirling head.
It whisked him from the smithy,
And it sent him hence to bed.

T’was as he rose to consciousness
He saw with startled eyes
That his hand still gripped the billet
Hammered now to wondrous size.

The final hammer blow rang through
The smithy of his bed,
And the final quench alighted
On the wall above his head.

His Father’s voice then came again
Clear now through passions cool –
“It’s time to eat your breakfast Son,
“And get your ass to school!”