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Show No-good Plow "I been," said the red-winged bird, "to visit the sun. I been to sing to the deaf old man in the moon. And now I'm here to make a maker of you, Oh yes, I'll make you something before I'm through." JjI'm something now," said the lad, "and I like it fine." "You're a smithy boy," said the bird, "and it ain't enough, A-bendin horseshoes! Bangin on the black! Why, there be things to make that can't be told, So bright and gold!" A thousand things, that bird was full of talk, And on he sang and Alvin listened tight. Till home he came at dark, his eyes so bright, His smile so ready but his mood like rock, He was full of birdsong, full of dreams of gold, Dreams of what he'd draw from the smithy fire. "How old is old?" he asked the smith. "How tall Do I have to be for hammer and tong? It's been so long." The smith, he spied him keen, he saw his eyes, He saw how flames were leapin in the green. "A redbreast bird been talkin," said the smith, His voice as low as memory. "So young, But not so young, so little but so tall. Hammer and tong, my lazy prentice boy, Let's see if they fit your hand, let's see if the heft Is right for your arm, the right side or the left, See how you lift." Out they went to the forge beside the road, Out and stoked the fire till it was hot. The tongs fit snug in Alvin's dexter hand, And the hammer hefted easy in his left, And the smith had a face like grief, although he laughed. "Go on," says he. "I'm watchin right behind." The flames leaped up, and Alvin shied the heat, But deep in the fire he held the iron rod Till it was red. "Now bend it," said the smith, "now make a shoe." Alvin raised the hammer over his head, Ready for the swing. But.it x^ouldn't fall. "Strike," the blacksmith whispered, "bend and shape." But the red of the black was the red of a certain bird, And in his head he saw the iron true: It was already what it ought to be. "I can't," he said, and the blacksmith took the tool And whispered, "Fool." |