No attachments, sure, OK, easier said than done,
Cause losing stuff you’ve worked on hard, just simply isn’t fun.
Apart from time and finger strain, from hacking at the keys,
And perspiration that has been converted from the teas.
That fuelled the creativity, linguistic cauldron brew,
The melding of the words designed to express something new.
When then the fatal click occurs, an eye blink and it’s gone,
An irreversible mistake, realising something’s wrong.
There’s no way back, there’s no undo, the letters poofed away,
Unfair the strike that has been blown, it’s too late now to pray.
Accept the loss, a gift received, to practice letting go,
There’s more to write, need to express, a chance to bloom and grow.
The simple act of having typed out all those words in rhyme,
Of having thought of and explored, made use of all that time.
Has made it worth while, even in an ephemeral way,
To power up the mind once more, to type out the next play.
Inspired by the mishap that led to one of T’s great poems disappear into the digital aether, due to a mistaken click. Fortunately though, I had the luck and honour to have had her read it to me before it happened.