I picked up my pen and placed it on the paper

I scratched a line or two in blackened ink

I thought about their lasting meaning

And figured that the future would stink


So I tapped the keys on my typewriter

And pledged to perform some lines

I held the spent ribbon in my fist

And watched the words on it drying


I finally went to my computer keyboard

And typed to my heart’s content

I no longer cared what words were typed

They could always be changed and re-sent


Barbara Blackcinder


About Barbara Blackcinder

I am a poet/writer with a need for words. There are so many out there that I haven't used yet. They define all reality and mine when you read those from me.
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