Of Christmas Past
Often in my dreams I hear voices-
Whispering tales of shady places
With music in the air
And old friends calling joyously
To join the festive fail
And Oh! My heart is thumping fast
A-longing to be there
Whispering tales of Hannan Street
Of whiskey and cigars
Of dainty shopgirls are hurrying,
To catch the ‘lectric cars
And maids who smile seductively
Behind the private bars
Whispering low of strenuous toiling
Under a scorching sun
Of glad nights at the Surrey
With music, songs and fun,
And joy rides to the Boulder,
When the warm day was done.
But roving days are over,
Vain are the siren cries,
Im getting old and wiser,
With every year that flies,
And laugh at youths fair promises,
A-knowning they are lies.
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Moya Sharp
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