Ygrette (Mother of The Warforged)
A fire burns beside a forge
A Dwarven maid, graceful and strong
And now her arms create a surge
Of thunderous blows, a hammer song.
Oh, Ygrette, The strong of form!
You will forge the iron born!
Her flame hair falls into her face,
Her rhythm though, she does maintain.
She knows to keep the hammers pace
Or else she’ll have to start again.
The moment that her project cools
She places it upon a rack
She puts away the smithy tools
And to her forge she turns her back.
Oh, Ygrette, who works alone!
Your face shall be carved in stone!
For now the days work is all done
She takes her leave and takes her hat.
She says goodnight to everyone
She meets upon the quiet path.
The Dwarven maid descends to bed
The day was hot, her work was steep.
And music plays inside her head,
Until at last she falls asleep.
Oh, Ygrette, Mechanics Queen!
You will build the great machine!