Way up on the mountain,
away from camp,
away from the lodge and den
Resides a master smith,
And his legion of Blax Brother men.
Burning white hot coals of brotherhood,
they hammer out joy and mirth
All from the recesses of their hut
crafting their “Special” projects of worth
‘With four mighty forges—
run like horses—
hitched to a mighty ventilator
He’s chalked upon them names:
and one strangely
Whose skills would spark any anvil
Won’t burn themselves on black-hot metal
He plans to open the exhaust gates of good deeds
And forge friendships
By the books,
Crafting candle holders,
which— Let’s face it—
Look like modified grappling hooks.
In the world of artforms, theirs is manliest,
Head and chest hair above any.
Let any man who doubt this
try crafting a Jay-hook in pottery.