My fingers are painfully stiff
I wonder if it was the job,
I typed day and night and what if
That is why my fingers throb?
I was then a telegraphist.
Spellchecker doesn’t like this word,
It must think they do not exist -
A telegraphist – that’s absurd!
But I certainly existed.
I had to transmit and receive
Messages which consisted
Of sad news causing one to grieve.
But they were more often cheerful,
For birthdays weddings and such like.
Sometimes the words were beautiful,
Still my fingers had keys to strike.
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Comments about this poem (A Telegraphist by Elia Michael )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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Edgar Allan Poe
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