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Forged thoughts burn
as a headful of nails.
My resentments are nobody’s business
To a mind of anvils.

War is no enemy to me.
I wage it on wagons and artillery.
Jack-of-all-metal-trades, as wheelwright and farrier,
I get extra as a horse-shoer.

One of the seven mechanical arts,
I form a chain with weavers, and agriculture,
Hunters, traders and cooks,
Masons, and architecture.

My body is a wrought iron skeleton
Of gates, railings and grilles.
It is struck into shape and welded as one
But bends to my maker’s will.

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