The Bane of Progress leading to accidental abrupt defenestration.

Composing once was nothing more than waltzing pen o’er paper dance floor
but when Royal’s Signet hit the store, one handed writing, nevermore.

Ten flying fingers troubadour quickly morphed into dinosaur
when the power of PC hit the store, the bane of whiteout I forswore.

Hardware-software esprit de corps, autocorrect, accept, ignore
Alas, habitual carriage-return settled the score, sent my PC to the floor.