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

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