The anvil is a mighty thing, blows rain upon his back,
And though the hammers pound away, anvil can't strike back.
Anvil isn't worried, He's seen hammers break, one by one,
The anvil stands undefeated, when the days long work is done.
But then one day a tiny hammer, simply made of brass,
Began to beat on anvil, but this just made him laugh.
What does this teeny tiny thing, think she can do to me?
I'm the mighty anvil, this she will surely see!
But hammer was persistent, she chipped away each day,
Upon his rusty weakness, which made the anvil say,
This tiny little hammer, has discovered where I'm weak,
How could such an evil thing, be cast as one so meek?
And o'er the years, a million blows, fell on anvil's head,
His body had so many cracks, he wished that he were dead.
And then the final blow it fell, anvil died at last.
He lay upon the Smithy's floor, completely split in half.
So such was anvil's evil end, But wait, we could recast!
No! No! cried Anvil, leave me be, I'm happier now at last!
Topic(s) of this poem: divorce
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