A Blacksmith By Trade Poem by vern eaker

A blacksmith by trade, as was my father before.
13 years young seemed older in the days of yore
I had made many weapons and pieces of armor
But to use them is what I truly yearned for

Tired of living under constant tyranny
Wanting evermore to again live free
My father had died as he tried to resist
I unable to shake the site of his closed fist

I felt it my duty to avenge his death as his son
With each blow of my hammer, fury did run
I had formed my self a battle sword and mace
The finest steel I could salvage around the place

A bit heavier than my years could yield
My fathers name molded into my shield
Bit by bit links of chain would form my armour
A stallion bartered from a nearby farmer

My mind was set never to be changed
Though I continued work my mind deranged
Like the bellows to the fire torment grew intense
Avenging my father not mere defense

When the land baron come calling for his taxes
With his guards each wielding, my own fathers axes
Unknowing the soldier that killed with such force
Until he unmasked himself revealing the source

Just before removing the head of the evil
This is for my father had he to chose to reveal
Needing to see the look in the baron's eyes
Astounded that I alone had taken their lives

The town rejoiced fanfare blew
But I had tasted blood and I knew
Off with the armor down with sword
Inside the shop without a word

The shield still hangs upon the wall
My fathers name displayed to all
The sword I melted and formed into rings
Of course I wear one my mother another
One sits in waiting my unborn sister or brother