I also like the following poem, not sure of its origin, but found it floating snagged in the web:

Riddle of Steel – A Poem.

What’s colder than the Northern Wind,
And sharper than a sailor’s tongue?
More solid than frozen ice sheets,
Yet harsher than the Arabian sun?
What is used for cutting throats in the middle of the night,
And then building bridges over distances long?
What is more silent than a waveless ocean,
But responsible for the singing of the sword’s song?
Dismembers limbs,
Founds great walls,
Builds tall fortresses,
That dwarf mead halls,
It is the omnipresent apocalypse of lives since time immemorial,
It is the glory of nations that have risen from the mist primidorial,
Some men make it,
Some men take it,
Some men buy it,
Some men sell it,
Fools they are, to try and tame,
Whats has brought nations to dust, and kings to shame,
What was brought into being in the molten fires in the earth below,
And then first forged by hammers in the lands of snow,
Man will try and own it, but as the years march on,
The Riddle of Steel will be here, long after we are gone.

It got taken up by a martial arts instructor in Eastern Washington (James Keating) who has his yearly “riddle of steel” seminar where Bowie knife techniques (among other things) are taught; I was privileged to attend the NY mini version some 15 years ago.

All our tools are an extension of us and you got me wondering how much what we use of nature is a reflection of our hearts.