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"The Phone'' is just a poem which I wrote after the death of my mother. We all miss talking to someone who has left us for ever.
I wonder why you left your phone
And I can’t call you anymore
When all is done and I’m alone...
For talking or for bore.
And I can’t hear your voice again
And noone asks me how’s your day
To tell my joy, or to complaint
To scold me or to praise.
The phone is now empty hole
Where I can share my sorrow
It has no ruth, it has no soul
Its soul is only borrowed.
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