Wrote a decent poem, agree first draft
At best, but wrote it I did to fill the task .
Each day we put hand to keyboard,
Not pen to paper, ah, there’s the rub.

If ‘twas paper, hard copy in hand to read
No matter what key was stroked, beguiled,
The once only words would be keyed
And not lost in some ether world’s safe file.

Alas, advice I preach to me to no avail.
So today I send a pitiful, plaintive wail.
Forgive me Lexpo buds, I shall try
Next to hit the copy key, be Google wry.

A new laptop is out of the question
Budget shudders, a rude suggestion.  
Maybe paper is my answer and type
Each painful line, forget all modern hype.

I promise a return to Road tomorrow
Regardless of typing sorrows. Perhaps
Crossed fingers is the answer to my woe.
One, two, three, off we go. Silly, I know!