On grandpas anvil

Grandpa's anvil
sits in the garage.

He used it to create,
horseshoes.

We use it to repair,
cars.

Dad tells me it left home, once.
Grandpa went to fetch it home.

A neighbor had a need,
then returned it, not.
Grandpa pulled out a switch,
and beat that anvil.

Grandpa was a small man,
over the shoulder he carried it,
told that anvil never to leave home again.

This story my Dad tells me about of his granddad.

Passed down through the ages,
the story, and anvil.
Always together,
never apart.

What will they, carry, down.
My children, when gone, I am?

This my Luv, and the truth, I share.