Ever the change

How loud sings out the hammer

to the anvils ringing song

how hot now is the metal 

To bend the twisted prong

the breath of the furnace bellows

turns the grey coals into red

while glowing are the embers

that light the smithy shed

A cart stands long forgotten 

amid natures growing shroud

a horse no longer waiting 

neath the gathering of the cloud

The smithy with his furnace

sweat deep upon his brow

 his hammer and his strong arm

are no longer needed now

the winds of change as ever

await the modern age

and history must just once again

turn yet another page

how loud sings out the hammer

To the anvils ringing song

how loud sings out the passing

of an old,old smithy gone


This poem is about: 
My community



Beautiful ,my daughter remembers ,made her cry ,the smithy in our village,now long gone,he used to shoe her horse,,

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