by Aonghus

My sword is my hammer;
The enemy my anvil.
Sparks of blood shall rain from each blow.
With each bellowing breath,
the fire of death grows stronger;
my shield a wooden windlass
to hold hot iron at bay.
My chain apron shall keep me from burning
and when I’m through beating and turning,
I’ll quench the heat within you;
Sell the steel
and toss the slag away.
I am the smith of battle;
My forge is war.