A thousand miles away the sweetest sigh
Of love and longing leaves her lonely lips
A prelude or a postlude to a cry
Accompanied by trembling fingertips
A thousand miles away I hear her hair
Brush gently as it falls across her face
The softest sound of which I am aware
A subtle sound she amplifies with grace
Nearby the howl of autumn winds and rain
Is deafening in all its autumn rage
A furious sound of cacophonic pain
Which struts and frets upon a noisy stage
A player poor I’ve chosen not to hear
And press the telephone against my ear

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