Blacksmith - II

This furnace had never burned hotter,
My back is sore from shovelling coal,
This furnace's stomach holds hell's fire,
I must forge once again, my mettle's soul.


No mistakes now, the damsel is watching,
Ignore the aching back and place the metal,
It turns to clay in that which is scorching,
I need to forge it right, I'm watched by my damsel.


Let the mettle lay with fire as if they were lovers,
On the flaming furnace bed, they lay as one.
This mettle of mine seeks the highest of fires.
To receive fire's gift, the glow of the Sun.


Ready the anvil and ready the hammer,
The eyes of the damsel are upon me tonight,
This is life and truth, no lies, no glamour.
Each hammer strike emitting sparks of sunlight.


My mettle groaned and howled as it bent,
My arms grew weary but I would not rest,
My mind possessed by my damsel's scent,
Could not stop till mettle was bent best.


The mettle in water turned half the trough to steam,
As if a ghost exorcised from mettle left for the skies.
Burnt and bent, my mettle smoked a grey stream.
Now tell me my damsel ,is my mettle right in your eyes?