Old Typewriter

Grey shades of old in archaic form, Rows of letters waiting to strike; Echoes once told in quirky norms, Yore did matter in thoughts once dyked. Type a few lines as fingers tap, You adjust punch to fit the hit; Paper shows signs of quaint mind map, Effort or hunch flows in sure bits; Work sure hazard in mechanics, Reap a slow piece in edgy stance; Ink ribbon flirts with force technique, Test odd treatise with urgent dance; Each tap heavy as fingers touch, Rites of story where font shapes much. Leon Enriquez 21 May 2015 Singapore