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I Forge Iron




S0006 Ode to a Blacksmith

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S0006 Ode to a Blacksmith
By Joe Donathan © 2003

A blacksmith friend of mine died and I wrote this little ode in his memory.

I can hear my dad the town smith sing People would come from far and wide to hire the smith who did his work with pride They knew his work would be superior and prices fair for is pay chickens, hogs, horses, and even a hare. You might say "Why did he take such" money wasn't around that much. People would gather around to watch the big man pound hot iron that was so hot it would glow he sharpened the pick, plow and the hoe

When I smell the fire of coal and hear the anvil ring

never a curse word would come your way. He was so big and bold had a very large heart of gold. he really loved and adored our Mother Would hug us kids until we thought we would smother. The big callused hands that swung the hammer also would pick me up in a tenderly manner. Deep in his arms of loving care the fears and the dangers of the world wasn't there.

He always had a good word to say

someday you must face the world alone. The best advise that I can give work hard, be kind, Honest and true then everything will work out for you.

Dad would look down on me and say Son of my own

he said son I must go away as tears welled up in my eyes he said son don't cry

When the good Lord came to claim my Dad that day

The people and your Mother is now your obligation. Upon his head stone is these words:

Pickup the hammer build the fire as this is your occupation



That's my dad the "SMITHY"

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