The Anvil and the Lamb
Came a day when
A man came carrying
What he claimed was a lamb
Though anyone could see
It was an anvil
What are you carrying
That anvil for?
Passersby asked him
But this man knew that
He was holding a lamb
He could feel its heart beating
Smell the lanolin in its wool
He asked everyone he met
Was the lamb theirs
Until finally the butcher
Taking pity on the man
And thinking he could say
He intended to slaughter it
Said Yes yes the lamb is mine
But instead of the cold wrought iron
He’d expected to feel
He took into his arms a creature
Of soft warm wool
That smelled of lanolin
And now no one will believe him
When the butcher swears
It isn’t an anvil
He’s feeding and watering
But a lamb that he has
No intention of slaughtering