Iron, red hot in stoked flames,
readied for the master’s hammer there,
on the anvil placed with care,
for to form the soul fire blade,
to slay the dragons of my heart
Heavy rain the blows that fall,
Wide the arm that wields the hammer,
Wet with sweat the great man roars
Oversees the cooling iron,
Until reading to be blazing again
At last the weapon ready she stands,
Master sees her tip and tail,
Carefully quenches her in oil,
Grinds her to a polished rail,
And slowly tempers the steel
The warrior draws her blade,
Not knowing all the history it bears,
The agony and ecstasy writ within,
From master’s strength and thoughtful care,
She slays the cold black serpent
My Gifted Life 