Though hazy I may be, the weather isn’t me. Through story I may be told, and I am dear to the old.

With fire and hammer, I shape the unyielding, turning metal to blade and horseshoe gleaming. Though I don no armor, I forge the knight's shield, crafting tools for battles in every field.

I play with your mind, a trickster most foul. Make you believe what is false, turn your expectations around. I live through the ages, unkillable as time. Though it is not necessary, I find it fun to rhyme.

I have no mouth, yet I tell the truth. I can be hidden, but never lost. I am weightless, yet I carry the past. Those who seek me shape the future at last. What am I?

Poetic writings blossom like the spring cherry- a long-practiced art.