Iron
Iron is the metal of the patient and the strong,
Iron is the material of the cold and the long,
And iron is the element I am made of in the fury,
And iron is the verdict of the cold deliberate jury.
Not the fire and not the dramatic and not the bright,
But iron in the cold and in the patient and the night,
Of the long and the deliberate and the holding of the weight,
And iron is the word for what I am and what I make.
Iron, the cold and patient and the strong and the dense,
Iron, the fury at its most intense,
In the cold and the deliberate and the held,
Iron is the fury in the disciplined and felled.
Not felled but standing and the standing is the iron,
The cold upright of the man who chose the quiet sirens,
Of the patient and the deliberate and the long,
And iron is the metal that I carry in the song.
I have been iron since before the obvious was clear,
I have been iron through the cold and through the year,
Of every season of the long accumulation and the deep,
And iron is the metal of the fury in its sleep.
The iron does not rust because the iron does not expose,
Itself to the elements that cause the rust in those,
Who do not tend the surface and the care of the real,
And iron is the fury and the fury is the steel.