The Blacksmith's Forge
Life is like a blacksmith's forge,
with crushing blows, and heat that melts,
the iron that is forged to steel,
is purified by a remorseless will.
Some people run from the smithy's shop,
along the easiest road they quickly stop,
they are only iron, a metal base,
in the sun and rain they rust and waste.
Our time in the forge must be steady and sure,
the blows and heat make a steel that's pure,
a supple frame that will carry it's load,
easy or hard we'll walk the roads,
and give our strength when needed.
Memories are colored gold,
not as if money were the force by which we were driven,
but, golden through the love and warmth,
that we receive or that we have given.
"A gentle touch
a word soft-spoken,
prove the
shepherds heart."
You have weathered storms and floods,
that would have broken lesser hearts,
your trials and tribulations
would have swept the weak apart.
"A gentle touch
a word soft-spoken,
prove the
shepherds heart."
Your heart and words
bridge the sea
that keeps us
both apart."
Copyright © Paula Reger | Year Posted 2014
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