Gettin’ Shod

CLANG tunk . CLANG tunk.
The farrier’s rhythm is aired.
A welcome beat for the horseman
For tomorrow’s ride is spared .

The shoe is glowing hot.
From his forge, it’s plain to see.
A further strike on the anvil
Should make the steel agree.

It is exacting business.
His final rasp is clutch.
All four shod with precision,
With the farrier’s final touch.

He will do it again tomorrow.
As well, next week and year.
Indeed the job is grueling
Though done with ample cheer.

Wrenched with aching back.
At end of each toilsome day.
But he does it because he loves it
In this barn, his hammer holds sway.