The Typewriter Poem by Owen Yeates

The typewriter is a great machine
So why does it make people talk obscene?
A normally quiet and temperate soul
Once on a typewriter, soon loses control

Their typing speed they try to improve
But at deletion they're soon in the groove
The gnashing of teeth, the bang of the head
The typewriter fills them, full of dread

For an object that does nothing, it is not told
It can soon turn its victims grey and old
Asylums must be packed with these
The broken minded with QWERTY disease

They say a bad workman blames his tools
Of the typewriter they know nothing the fools
Once turned on it starts to flow
Printing gibberish row on row

All typists have felt this from time to time
That the typewriter's guilty of a major crime
So they put it aside, with much abuse
But still end up QWERTY and blowing a fuse