The anvil of my heart is heavy with grief.
But it is strong with faith and will not break.
It is worn with the metal of my loves lost
They are the heaviest of irons, the coldest of steels.
The hammer I use is still not correct.
The shape, too square with inexperience.
I improve the hammer each time I strike,
giving it the shape of the love smith�s companion
The anvil of my heart is heavy with grief,
but on it, I hammer my perfect love.
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