There is beauty in the hammer stroke
as it shapes useless metal to useful form.
There is pain.
The forge is hot.
The anvil rings as steel strikes back against the smith.
Fatigue burns as the day passes.
But the task must not be left undone.
Whether plow or sword or barrel stave,
the smith will not rest,
even when the day passes and the Long Night comes.
For it is in the night that the true beauty of his work is seen.
Strength to furrow the stubborn earth.
Strength to defend hearth and home.
Strength to hold all together.
For though the night is long, it is not eternal.
Beauty will rise with the coming sun.
And the smith again will set to his work.