They handed me a rifle, cold and steel,
Taught me to aim, to fight, to kneel.
In the eyes of the world, a soldier I stand,
Defined by the tool placed in my hand.
A hammer to a builder, a brush to an artist,
Each tool shapes the soul, from the start to the hardest.
We become what we wield, in work and in strife,
The tool makes the man, in his journey of life.
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