Powder Metallury
Between sledge and anvil
Beliefs are forged and proved
Withstanding shaping blows
Or shattered faced by truth
All those tiny fragments
Of brittle bits of thought
Swept into a dustpan
And poured in mem'ry's vault
Add up to a fortune
Misfortune, if you will
For he is truly richest
Who keeps an empty till
Poorest they who pick up
Every slight shard they find --
Collect thoughts like filings
When they've an axe to grind
By Robert Corey
© 2009 Robert Corey
(All rights reserved)
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