He's a stable smithy
Thinks his genius words are pithy
As he pounds, pounds, pounds
Into the night

Swings his big word-hammer
Never minding lies and grammar
Cuz he's gotta, gotta, gotta
Fuel the fight

With his bellowslike ire
He stokes the fire
As it burns, burns, burns
To his delight

On his huge word-anvil
Pounds rumor and scandal
As they sizzle, sizzle, sizzle
Burning bright

Hones his words untoward
Like a two-edged sword
As they stab, stab, stab
Like a knife

As his words extrude
They can get really rude
As he pushes, pushes, pushes
Wrong as right

He's a stable smithy
Thinks his genius words are pithy
As he pounds, pounds, pounds
With all his might




© 2019 Mark Toney. All rights reserved.