It is frustrating when the “I” acts strange
Not yet utterly worthless is this key
But thanks to it, I must oft rearrange
The marks it makes unbidden, to spite me
Sometimes, it makes no mark upon the screen
As often, it produces a series!
Dazed schools of tall, thin vowels I have seen
Like patients, afflicted with one disease
Its errors and malfunctions spoil my day
It could be repaired or replaced, I’m sure
But it has seen me through both work and play
Love letters, essays, searches for a cure
If its odd failures move me to betray
Who will with me, a failing old I, stay?
About the Creator
D. J. Reddall
I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
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