Poems from BaronRedbank
The forge is hot, and the fire is red
My arms are screaming, feeling dead.
The iron glows like a burning brand
And the anvil sings...
There is a fire which burns in all men, oft banked by worldly care
It needs but one breath to waken its heat, a wind of holy air
On...
There is a fire which burns in all men, oft banked by worldly care
It needs but one breath to waken its heat, a wind of holy air
On...