The Typewriter

 Your time has passed my loyal friend

You always put my mind to ease

When sleep would flirt yet not descend

My dreams found freedom in your keys

The outlet for my rambling mind

A voice when I could not speak

Muddled words were soon refined

On your keys now deemed antique

Of your passing, there’s no rejoice

I yearn for sounds of tapping keys

Which meant a writer found her voice

Capturing words from elusive breeze