Steel all red,
With the heat of the coals
Held with great care,
On the anvil, thee hammer does blow
Washed in the water,
To turn the steal blue
In the fires again,
Beaten, drench, and cooled
Held by a master,
Steal so bright
Edge so sheen,
With a touch it bites
In the hands of the soldier,
Its life it can save
It can mean death,
If in the hands of a knave
By: Lord Gwydion