He stood before the blistering forge,
where coals burned blazing red-hot,
like molten lava the ore from the gorge.
Long he had ferreted and sought.
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Ancient sword smiths who made wonderful sharp swords to use in wars were skilled ones and now the new generations are opted for other jobs. A good poem.
Actually a man is his own swordsmith to his life. his dream alone set him aglow - a wonderful line.
You're right, Cigeng. We all are 'smiths' in accordance to our dreams and aspirations.