The BlacksmithThe BlacksmithThe dry, hot dirt turned under foot.He wiped sweat off his brow, covered in soot.Slowly his mule plotted close behind,Followed obedient, at the end of his line.The two were like brothers, never apart.A blacksmith was he, a lover at heart.Tall by no means, he was small in stature,Some would say rather slumped in posture.But brawny was he, as strong as ten men,No fellow cross him twice over again.A man of few words, to himself he kept most,He need not be such an eloquent host.A wife he had once but widowed is he,Though clouded with sorrow, acceptance was key.His days went by, all blended together.Despite his hard shell, he was a gentle creature.Well practiced was he, reciting amens,Praying the day he lay eyes on her again.But patient he waits, just biding his time.Alone with his mule, he commits no crime,For his spot in heaven he must reserveTo see the day he will again sit beside her."Life is a struggle, and these trials a guide,"Said the mule to hi
And you are looking gorgeous...
Always stunningly beautiful haha
Again, too kind
You're the pretty one making me say that
Thanks for this great self-