Curious Onlooker

In an old and dusty town where wagons rolled slow,
Lived a smith with a hammer and fire’s steady glow.
He pounded red iron till sparks leaped so high,
And shaped it beneath a soot-smudged sky.

With a clang and a ring and a rhythmic ka-pow,
He bent it precisely. He knew exactly how.
Then into the sandbox he tossed it to rest,
Where it sizzled among the smith’s very best.

Along came a traveler, curious and bright,
A self-appointed inspector on that night.
He spotted the horseshoe, there in the sand,
And scooped it up in his curious hand.

But zip went his fingers. He dropped it like that,
As quick as a blink or like a startled young cat.
The blacksmith chuckled. “My friend, was it too hot?”
The man said, “It don’t take long to see what I’ve got.

“I saw what I needed in just half a glance.
No need to keep holding or taking a chance.”
The smith gave a nod with a knowing old grin,
For wisdom, like iron, is forged from within.

So when you feel tempted to grab what is hot,
To linger too long where you really should not,
Take heed of the lesson that traveler once took.
And take those moments with a very short look.