'Neath an Ornamental Yew
The neighborhood smithy stands,
The muscles on his lanky arms
Stand out like rubber bands.
He plans for safety as he works.
He values limb! - And life!
(And safety kept first and foremost
Stills naggings from his wife!)
He cranks Australian blower.
His tools lay everywhere.
When fire in his forge he lights,
It thickens up the air.
His Canuk-crafted anvil
Sits upon an apple stump.
When careless walking by it,
It doth poke him in the rump.
A slack tub waits at ready.
(Still lack an oil quench)
And extra fuel holds down lid down
On abandoned "Super Quench"
His power tools are small and few
For budgeting is small
(And many those who sternly chide
Such not be used at all!)
