Swords and Plows

Swords and Plows.

Bam, Slam, A hammer and a ram,
A tong in a fire and a hiss in a can.
A fire glowing red, dancing iron in a bed
The glisten of a sweat and the grime on the sand.

Spinning all alone, digging deep in a bone
Of a steel swinging arm, of a blood-letting stone.
Of a kill dealing brace, run away, hide your face,
From the grim, jolly grin of a pale running roan.

Put it up, put it down, men are dead in the ground,
Seeds a sprung in the spring, when the rain come on down.
Fights a done, days begin, woman lie with the kin,
And the food at an end, and the little belly sound
So the death dealing thing, in the fire, turn around.

Bam, Slam, A hammer and a ram,
A tong in a fire and a hiss in a can.
A fire glowing red, dancing iron in a bed
The glisten of a sweat and the grime on the sand.

Bend it down, make it lack, take it in, roll it back,
Tie it on, pull a sack, put the taters in the back,
‘Till it full, ‘till it packed, take it down, get it stacked
When the snow start to fly, bellies full in the shack.