The Face Behind The Keys Poem by Lesley McDade

Is a genie hiding in my typewriter?
Or a gremlin, or imp, perhaps?
I can see him grinning, the cheeky blighter,
And hear him mock between the taps.

If not an imp, or gremlin, or genie,
- A Leprechaun or other sprite,
Whom does it belong to, whose face do I spy
Peeping at me with eyes so bright.

Come out little man, elvin, troll or whatever,
You’ll get hurt as I bang the keys,
We’ll write some poems and stories together,
Come out, come out, little man, please.

Phyllis Jermy Deceased - my Grandmother