Blacksmith poem

Chores
Pull say we pull yeah!
papa to hear you
old man spit yell
and groan,

Give a hand here you five ne'r do aught.
My pyre here needs its thick
bark blanket
a kiln free from air
cooks the teepeed rick black
coals come out to feed my hungry fire
pot then bellies with mama's help

burn my iron pig
to white and flowing like butter
held neith my blow
in billy long tongs for a whang
and fold -- whang again
doubling, fireing, flat'ning, fold
doubling again

mix mash black charcoal with iron
forging steel blend through each layer
turning slimy wrought
stone hard
glass sharp

work blade and grind saber scalper
bone barrer, blood birther, wrothfull
barter 'gainst kings call
 "More, more fighters afoot."
Grist to this ash dump
endless
war