They were like little white stop signs
From a long ago age
Stamped with familiar QWERTY markings
But still strangers to me
There weren't quite enough of them
Numbers and symbols crammed on letters
An affront to my modern keyboard thinking
But it still called out to me
It made my fingers itch
To touch the olive green chassis
Down-strike mechanism standing tall on either side
Like feather tufted sentinels holding spears with pride
This Oliver No 9 Standard Visible Writer
It haunts my steampunk dreams
As I ride on copper piped Zeppelins
In brass clockwork skies
I want to write orders for generals
That one great novel
A perfect poem
A humble pure word
All upon this mechanical monster
This thing from the past
Weighing fifty pounds surely
And by gods built to last
From a long ago age
Stamped with familiar QWERTY markings
But still strangers to me
There weren't quite enough of them
Numbers and symbols crammed on letters
An affront to my modern keyboard thinking
But it still called out to me
It made my fingers itch
To touch the olive green chassis
Down-strike mechanism standing tall on either side
Like feather tufted sentinels holding spears with pride
This Oliver No 9 Standard Visible Writer
It haunts my steampunk dreams
As I ride on copper piped Zeppelins
In brass clockwork skies
I want to write orders for generals
That one great novel
A perfect poem
A humble pure word
All upon this mechanical monster
This thing from the past
Weighing fifty pounds surely
And by gods built to last
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