What will.

It’s not the clearest skies that opens the eyes to see,

Nor the sun all the clearer despite whatever could possibly be,

Eyes are opened in conflict, the ability to perform,

Will be enhanced and refined, in the midst of the storm,

It’s not cordial conversations that builds character to admire,

Nor the pleasant moments with friends that encourages us to aspire,

In the conflict of tribulation, through the adversity of the night,

Only then will we fan our flame to wage that good and faithful fight,

It’s not by brittle caresses that shapes the forged hot steel,

Nor the tender mercies of the smith, telling of how he feels,

It’s the smacking of the hammer, the callouses built through pressing into the chords,

That such songs are composed, and our metal is made perfect, the quality of our swords…

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