Iron Might

With a hammer firm in hand, I stand,  

Surveying all across the land.  

No matter what may come my way,  

I raise my tool without delay.  

A crooked beam, a fragile thread,  

A whispered doubt within my head—  

Each one, I strike, again, again,  

As if the force will make it mend.  

But not all things are meant to break,  

Not every wound a blow can take.  

Some call for care, a gentle bend,  

A steady hand, a thoughtful end.  

Yet here I am, my grip so tight,  

Each problem met with iron might.  

If only I could learn to see—  

That more than hammers, tools must be.