In fiery breath the furnace roars,
Where molten metal writhes and pours,
A molten will, it’s heart aflame,
Is where opportunity whispers your name.

Strike now! While heat bends iron true,
The moment more ripe, the deed left to do,
No tepid tap, let hesitant wash away,
For doubt’s dull chill will steal your big day.

Procrastination’s viper poised to sting,
With whispered dreams and future things,
The anvil waits, life’s hammer poised,
But Time, the sculptor stays buoyed.

So seize the spark, the burning hour,
Let action bloom into spring’s flower,
In forge of will, to metal wrought,
Shall shhape fate anew, before all else is naught.

For once the flame of embers wanes,
Regret’s cold ash will descend like rains,
A haunted heart, this silent forge,
Will then echo whispers of ‘Strike no more.’