Old Tim writes poetry now
in his heaven of retirement.
He’s had nice jobs
over the years but swears
retirement is better.
He’s forgetful now but never
suffers from writer’s block.
The words come so fast
his fingers fly like eagles
across his IBM Selectric.
The sound of a typewriter
is a concert for Old Tim.
When he types he swears he sees
Astaire dancing with Ginger Rogers
on a small black and white TV.
Says colored sets are a fad.
He would never own one.
He’d rather type and watch
Fred and Ginger dancing.
More at http://booksonblog12.blogspot.com.