This will be my final song:
With no chorus planned to follow
Nor daggers sharpened to a point
Or the fired forge to bellow.
For when no one needs a blacksmith
The brazen god’s teeth flicker
Alights the hammer’s handle
And spreads marigold flame to wicker.
The steel alone will shudder
And miss the smithy’s call
With no rage to fall upon them
To etch their egos small.