The raw materials combined of iron and carbon;
Melted and cooled, forming a block of steel.
Into the swordsmith's hand, the blade will be shaped;
Seeking a weapon of glory, forged with strength.
This process of heating, hammering, then cooling;
Tediously slow, effectively strong, exceedingly balanced.
Now shaped, the tempering continues; heat, shape, cool.
Glistening in the sunlight, refracting the sun with it's sharp edge;
This tempered blade is finally ready for combat.
A warrior I'm not, but I have learned from the swordsmith;
The lesson of the tempering of my life is understood.
Stronger with each fire, every blow, then the cooling;
Hardening, shaping, balancing, sharpening me in this process.
Without going into the swordsmith's fires, my life would be ineffective;
Fragile, poorly shaped, weak, unbalanced; without a true usefulness.
Oh, Swordsmith of the heavens; billow the fire, place me on the anvil;
Forge my life by your skillful hand, make me ready for combat.
I am in His hand, my tempered blade becoming stronger each day.
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