The Birth of Excalibur

The fire’s intense serpentine flames Reached high into the cold dark sky, The hulking metal smith’s Hammer swung true, Sending sparks spraying far and wide. Large beads of sweat From his furrowed forehead Sizzled on the anvil below, His heart pounded wildly Like someone beating a drum As the fire cast an eerie glow. The metal being shaped And worked with great care, Had now been folded Exactly one thousand times, The sound reverberating From the metallurgic work Was indeed a very good sign. The metal smith paused To admire his work By the glow of the fervent flames, He pondered for a moment About the secrecy of this task And from whence this metal came? Such questions seemed odd For a man who normally Makes a living Crafting simple tools, “Ah, it matters not!” The metal smith spoke aloud As he dropped the item Into a barrel of water to cool. A great billowing cloud of steam Erupted as the mysterious metal Eventually cooled to the touch, And to the metal smith’s surprise He quickly realized, The metal now, did not weigh as much. And so the procedure continued As one craftsman after another Labored for days to come, Then, at long last, The complicated task Was completed, it was finally done! An exquisite work of art it was Intricately designed, With the finest precious metals And gems, The razor edge was unrivaled, Fully capable of piercing stone, Its solemn royal purpose: was to defend.