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