THE BLACKSMITH
Fred Larose was a blacksmith in Cobalt town,
A log cabin near the rail lines, he often did frown,
For he worked long hours to make a living quite hard,
Hammering and toiling away with great regard
For the work he had to do, and a fox often came to view,
That drove him crazy seeing the fox, what could he do
To the pesky fox looking all cute his head on one side,
His great frustration he found so very hard to hide.
Working away one day with his furnace and hammer,
His frustration made him splutter a little, then stammer,
He lifted his hand and sent his hammer flying high,
But the fox ran off without a yelp, whimper or cry.
Then the hammer hit the rock and there before his eyes
Was the wonderful sight of silver, such a great surprise.
After awhile he was happy to sell his share of silver bright
And all the cobalt and other ore that was hidden from sight.
He sold his claim for quite a good price and retired in Quebec ,
Although he lost lots of capital, he thought, ‘Oh what the heck.’
The log cabin is still standing but moved to safer ground,
I wonder if the ghost of the fox close by has ever been found?
(Millicent) Ann Margetson 13 September 2005