Feeling cold, unloved, are you, dear pen?

Would you sooner a hand, a reminder, of days gone by?

Of when it was only a pen, a paper, none of this typing that has bocome so popular,

Tell me, dear pen, do you often wonder why?

And what would be the merit of a computer screen,

and not the paper, or ink, in written word, a pen?

And would you tell me, old friend, dear pen,

Do you still recall days gone by, when

There was only the scratching of pen and paper

Late into the night?

And not the tap, tap of fingers on keys,

Until the dawn's first light.