The Anvil

There are some that blindly and happily plow While the tractor screams "Feed me some oil" The scraping of gears and the gnashing of teeth Fall softly on full ahead ears A frown may give away something right A smile can hide crooked affairs The sun on the back rings a work man's guffaw It's all in the bag with coins Call me tomorrow, then come over here See if we can figure this out There in an eye winking curiously By the campground, the bedside night stand My leg bones feel weary yet walk on they will Holding for wheels and gravy On a plate full of nothing but shaking my head With a side bowl of nothing to do Could be a time thing, could be a ruse And I will concede to confusion Ideas spin 'round my crazy old head Hard as (and light as) an anvil The liver will wither and wax with the tide Fine, if I can find the answer To a question I've never been asked before I hear time and time again