Thanksgiving - Poem by Sidi Mahtrow

The Blacksmith's Forge

He rest his hammer alongside the wall
And ask the boy that turns the bellows to not stop at all
For the coals must glow and yield the heat
Which when he returns to the metal, beat.

For in his mind's eye a shape is formed
That will impart a meaning not to be scorned
Twisted and hammered until the poetry
At once will be his mark on history.

The smell of sulphur fills the air
As the blazing heat produces a char
So this day the poem will be an acrid one
That burns the eyes and heart of some.

For he writes of the day when the world stood still
And gave thanks for the men and women who ever will
Give up their time on earth to others
As THEY are our sisters and brothers.

And the sound of his anvil is loud and clear -
Give thanks for those who are far and near.

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