by the telephone, a gray lady waits
she waits by the phone,
practicing a conversation
as she has done a thousand times before,
and if need be, a thousand times more.
the out-of-date phone, a relic from when it all began,
a rotary dial, stately black in classic design,
EVergreen5-1225 is the number her love used to call,
back then in the mists
in the innocent days.
the burring ring always ignited her joy,
it was him, it was love, it was wonderful.
they would talk and talk
not about anything, anything much,
but the sound of their voices felt like kisses of sound.
those were halcyon days
of springtime dreams and summers at play,
then on a day, a very gray day, the war did come
and all the young men went off,
fulfilling their duty and fighting the cause,
leaving the phones to sit quiet and still.
oh, a call did come on another gray day,
and it left in her tears like a kiss good-bye,
the tears became days,
the days became years,
and now a gray lady waits,
waiting for the call that never will come.
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