Left Prose in The Locket | World Anvil

Left

Little tool, so carefully forged
How does it feel to bend and break?

 

When your job is done,
The fight has been won,
Did you truly think you would stay?

 

For when tools have been used,
Cared for no longer,
They are tossed out; beaten and shattered.

 

Little tool, so carefully shaped,
What would you have been like,
Had you been raised in a different place?


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