The Anvil

The ringing of the anvil
Was a disappointing tone
For though I raise the hammer
It will spark upon the stone
(We thought we had it figured out,
And we were not alone.)
And yet I bread to wonder
Why the pie flew in the sky
And why the woods for weeks stood still
And let their sailors die.
(For who had not yet felt the death
Of rivers that run dry?)
And here I stand and wonder,
And go, "Why, oh why, oh why?"