I find that paper lends itself
Excellently to flow of thought;
Far better than keystrokes and light.
A screen blasts its presence forward;
Takes what is does not possess and
Flings it into our tired eyes.
Paper takes what it is given
And dutifully holds it close
Until decay does to it part.
Like a soldier brave and hardy
It values its charge most highly
And gives up its life before it.
This is unfinished, both in idea and form. At some future date I would like to revisit this, flesh it out, and put it in a proper meter instead of this freeform tetrameter.